Return to Lakeport
by jmr27
Summary: Brian Moore, Jessica's father, learned about monsters over a decade ago. Now, one has shown up in his town, and Brian reaches out to the only hunter he knows: Sam. The Winchesters must find the monster before the locals do, and Sam re-unites with a family he thought he would never see again. Sequel to Summer Job.
1. Death in the Water

**Return to Lakeport**

Brian Moore, Jessica's father, learned about monsters over a decade ago. Now, one has shown up in his town, and Brian reaches out to the only hunter he knows: Sam. The Winchesters must find the monster before the locals do, and Sam re-unites with a family he thought he would never see again. Sequel to Summer Job.

 **Chapter 1 Death in the Water**

The water glimmered in the sun, the light reflecting off of the rippling surface. It beckoned all with a promise of a quick cool-down and relief from the sweltering heat. The lake was full of people making good on that promise. Boats, canoes, jet-skis, the residents of Lakeport took to the water as if they had fins and gills. Nothing would stop them, short of a lighting strike.

Not even the string of grisly corpses that had been found in and near the water.

Brian Moore didn't care for water sports or fast motor boats. He much preferred a leisurely day of fishing, with a cold soda in one hand, a book in the other, and the pole propped up against a rock, Huck-Finn style. The lake house was his oasis, an island of calm in an otherwise hectic world.

He didn't know what led him away from his usual fishing hole today. He was following some sixth sense honed during twenty years in law enforcement. Even over a decade after he'd left his Sheriff's badge behind, old habits died hard. Possibly, it was the silence. An invisible message filling the air, warning that something had gone wrong. The birds weren't singing, there weren't' even any squirrels digging around under the trees. All was still.

Brian picked his way along the lakeshore, hopping from one rocking outcropping to another, searching. He didn't know for what, until he found it.

It was the smell that hit him first, feces and rotting meat mixed in a potent combination. Then, the buzzing of flies filled his ears, guiding him like a beacon. There, washed up in a tide pool, was something that had once been a human body, now mangled beyond recognition.

Brian emptied the contents of his stomach into a nearby bush. He'd investigated few murders in his time, and killed only one man. A day that would be forever branded in his memory. Next to this one. Even on highway patrol, he had never seen a body as bady disfigured as this one.

There was no need to check for a pulse. The skin was mottled and blue, long dead. Something sharp had ripped the flesh to ribbons, except for one expanse of skin. This was clearly marked with a circular pattern, lines weaving in and out of each other with no clear beginning or end; a cletic knot, scratched into the skin.

Brian pulled out his cell phone. The lake had once been without service, a fact Brian had never minded. Recent upgrades to the cell towers had changed all that. Today, he was glad of it. Within half and hour, the Sheriff had arrived, and a team of deputies and forensic experts were combing the scene.

Sheriff Mann was a big, beefy man, very proud of the badge he had won in the last election. He'd been on the force for nearly fifteen years, and no one could say he didn't have the experience to do the job.

What he lacked was the temperament.

The Sheriff approached Brian with a broad stride and nodded a cordial greeting.

"Mayor."

His tone was respectful, but resentment bubbled under the surface. He had been happy to stop into the role that had once belonged to Brian, but was more than a little disgruntled that the 'old man' still out-ranked him. Sheriff Mann liked to be at the top of the heap, and Brian's presence at the head of city government was a constant reminder that he still held more authority than the younger man.

"Sheriff." Brian's greeting was short and without warmth. He had a sneaking suspicion about the mess he'd found, confirmed by the lack of surprise evident in the crime scene team. They had seen something like this before. "Glad to see your team responded so promptly. Excellent drill work, that."

Sheriff Mann puffed up with pride. Always, he had cared more for the opinions of others than anything else. "Beat your best time by half a minute."

He'd never quite caught on to Brian's first rule of discipline. If possible, pay a compliment before handing out a reprimand. With his children, and his employees, he'd found is the most effective way to nurture improvement.

Mann had grown up over the years, Brian had to admit. He was no longer the blustering young buck, full of swagger and stoked with the power his badge and gun gave him. But he still had a long way to go. He liked to be in charge far too much, and his fragile ego did not handle criticism well.

"It looks like your team have seen something like this before." Brian kept his voice cool, just gathering facts for now.

"Yep, looks just like the other two. Entrails ripped out, body barely recognizable as human."

"Hm." Brian pursed his lips. So, he was right. "The papers called it a bobcat mauling. You've got everyone on alert looking for a wild animal."

Mann was starting to catch the warning tone in Brian's voice. He nodded defensively. "Looks like a wild animal's leftovers, don't you think?"

"Did an animal decorate that victim, Sheriff? Did an animal carve a celtic knot into the skin of its dinner before chowing down? What did the coroner's assessment conclude?"

Mann's black look was all the answer Brian needed.

"No bobcat would do that, and you know it. You didn't even inform my office of the real evidence." Too many pieces were falling together, and the picture they painted was anything but good. Rumors of sightings of a 'loch-ness' style creature in the lake. Strange accidents, swimmers received strange scratch marks in open water. Three deaths, but no wildcat sightings worthy of mention. It was too much. "You need to evacuate the lake. We don't know what we're dealing with."

"Now, Mayor, you don't have any jurisdiction to tell me how to do my job." Mann tapped the gold star pinned to his chest. "I'm Sheriff now, and I control how this department is run. I don't want the public to be worried until we are certain what we have on our hands."

"I am responsible for the well-being of all Lakeport and her weekend guests." He gestured to the water, where motor boats whizzed across the surface. "How long until another one dies?"

"I have all of our resources devoted to this investigation, Mayor. Wildlife control is out in force. Whatever this thing is, we'll catch it."

"Thing?"

"They all have the same symbol, yes, but they've also been chewed on by canine incisors. Could be a serial killer using wild dogs or wolves to hide his tracks. Could be a group of folks who got tattoos together who all ran into the same bad luck. We don't know yet. All I do no is, it doesn't make any sense and there is no sense scaring folks." No sense telling people information that would only make them ask more questions, questions the Sheriff couldn't answer. No sense getting people scared, scared enough to call State Police or the FBI, who might take the investigation away from the local yokels.

Eaten by animals, but marked by humans. Brian felt a chill run down his spine. Could it be? There were things in this world, he knew. Things that straddled the line between man and beast, between the natural world and something…else.

"Yes, I'll expect the coroner's report within the hour." Brian gestured meaningfully to his phone, which had become a sort of mobile office in the past few years. "In addition to everything else you have in the case file." Mann scowled, but nodded. Brian couldn't interfere with his investigation, but as Mayor he had the right to access any records held by the Sheriff's dept.

Brian retrieved his fishing pole and made his way back to his vacation house, perched between a stand of trees and the shimmering water. Once, it had been his retreat, the safe haven from the world. Nothing could touch his family at the lake house. Until a hit-man intent on murdering his perspective son-in-law blew a hole through one of the walls with a grenade. The damage to the structure had been repaired long ago, but the illusion of safety had taken some time to regain. Just when the world was feeling right again, it collapsed.

There were four figures splashing in the water by the dock, Brian's daughter Jenna and her three children. The youngest wore water wings and kicked happily at his siblings, dousing them all with. They obligingly splashed back. They were fearless, carefree, happy.

Brian paused, taken aback by the sweet innocence of the scene, the swimmers completely unaware of the dangers lurking around them. Dangers Brian could no longer ignore. He marched forward and waved his arm to get Jenna's attention.

"Get them out of the water, now." Brian knew his tone was sharp, even rude, but he didn't care. There was death in the water, and a cold feeling spreading through his guts. "We're closing up the lake house for a few days."

Jenna frowned, an unusual sight in her tan, cheerful face. Her hair was bleached nearly white by the summer sun. She and the kids played here every day when school was out. "What? Dad, why?"

"Just do as your told." Those were words seldom used in the Moore household. They were a family that prided themselves on honesty, and open discussion. Explanations always followed rules.

"What? Dad! What's happening?" Jenna stared at her father, waiting.

Maybe he was panicking. Maybe, it was just a wild animal. Maybe, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

But maybe, it was something else. He couldn't take the chance.

Brian didn't answer, just scowled and reached toward his oldest grandchild. The little girl was named after her aunt, who had died long ago in a fire. Jessica. He grabbed her hand and hauled her to the dock. "I need you to trust me, Jenna. Get them out of the water."

00 Lakeport 00

Life was good. Sandy breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of fresh basil before sprinkling the herb into the bubbling pan in front of her. The promise of a savory meal made her mouth water as she stirred the sauce, then checked on the rest of the pots. Cooking was like a dance, there was a rhythm to the flow of chopping, stirring, waiting while the heat worked out its chemical reaction and a pile of meat and vegetables became a meal. Cooking was creation, joy, and nourishment wrapped into one.

When her daughters were young, Sandy had rarely cooked. Not real, from-scratch, fresh-herbs-from-the-garden cooking. She had been to busy watching them learn to crawl, to walk, to talk, to play. Many of their meals had started in boxes, packaged ingredients quickly thrown together. Or they had been bits of this and that tossed from freezer to crock pot. She had cooked, yes, but never like this.

Sandy hadn't allowed a box of Hamburger Helper in the house for nearly a decade. After her daughter Jessica died, darkness had fallen over their home. It was a shock, the ending of a life that should have continued far beyond hers. Dreams and plans snuffed out by chance. None of them had known how to move forward from that, and for what seemed like an eternity they walked through life on auto-pilot. But light slowly crept back into their lives. Healing came in the small things. Brian took to fishing again, and reading. Sandy went out to her garden, and learned to compose deliciousness from the things she grew there. Slowly, each of them found their way back.

But something was wrong today. Sandy could sense it in the air, a hint of bitterness caught in the back of her throat, throwing off the taste of everything. She ladled pasta and sauce into bowls and went in search of her dinner partner. Half the joy of cooking was watching another eat her creations.

Brian sat on his computer, where he had landed as soon as he came home from the lake house half a day early. He was hunched, neck bent, eyes fixed on the screen as if looking away might cause some great catastrophe. His face was line with stress, a look Sandy hadn't seen for several years.

After retiring from his first career, she'd been more than a bit surprised at his choice of a second. But he had needed a focus for his life, after the fire, and she hadn't complained. Brian rarely brought his work home, and it never, ever interfered with his dinner. Usually, he was circling the kitchen, begging for a sample, eager for Sandy to fill his plate.

Today, he just stared at the computer.

"Dinner!" Sandy called.

Brian's face turned toward her, and he blinked, surprised. "What? Already?" He stared at the clock, then rubbed his eyes.

Sandy came over to see what was on the computer screen, but he quickly closed the program. All she caught was a flash of skin and red blood. A dead body? "What's got you so wrapped up today?" She frowned, then asked more pointedly. "What happened at the lake?"

Brian let out a long sigh. "They found another body. It's not a bobcat. Sheriff Mann kept key details out of his reports to the public, and to me."

The delicate dance of power between the Mayor and newly elected Sheriff had been a source of entertainment for the entire town for several months now. Usually, it involved a lot of blustering and posturing. Usually, something this serious wasn't at stake.

"You think it's a murderer?"

Brian nodded. "Yes."

"Honey, Mann worked under you as a deputy for a decade. He's been with the Sheriff's office for over fifteen years. He knows how to do the job. He doesn't have to do it the way you did."

"He has no idea how to handle this type of case."

The last killing in town had been over twelve years ago, and Brian had been the one to pull the trigger. Sandy squeezed his hand. "You retired. It's not your job anymore. Meddling in his investigation isn't going to help. It'll only make him mad, and he'll dig his heels in just to spite you."

"I know." Brian grimaced. "The truth is, this is beyond both of us. I think I need to call in a private investigator for this."

"I thought P-Is investigated cheating spouses, or figure out where teenagers go when they claim they're sleeping over at a friend's. Shouldn't you call the FBI?"

Brian shook his head. "No, this isn't a case for the FBI. We need a special type of investigator."

Brian's mouth was set in a line. There was something lurking behind this conversation, something he wasn't telling her. Sandy was used to not knowing much about his work. It was often a matter of safety and rules of confidentiality that all professionals had to adhere to. Of course, there were the secrets he chose to keep. The ones he could speak of, if he wished to. She wondered how much he'd spared her over the years, by simply not talking about something. Brian could be the master of silence, holding onto thoughts he knew others wouldn't like.

Today, she suspected his silence was motivated by the latter. There was something else going on here, something he simply refused to say out loud.

Clearly, this conversation would go nowhere further tonight. Sandy pointed meaningfully at the electrical socket where the computer was plugged in. "Well, then, there's nothing more for you to do today. Come eat your dinner, or else I'm cutting you off."

Brian leaned back, looked up at her, and smiled. That was what she wanted to see. After nearly forty years of marriage, she still lived for that grin. He reached for her cheek, and she met him halfway, melting into a long kiss.

Yes, life was good.

000 Lakeport 000

 _There are things in the world, things that don't obey the natural laws. Things that most people don't know about. We teach our children that the world is a certain way, we teach them that all things obey the same laws of science. Anything that doesn't fit this paradigm, we teach them to dismiss. Monsters have been in the world for thousands of years, but its only in the last few hundred that humanity has decided to ignore them._

 _Except a few of us. We call ourselves hunters. We kill the things that kill people. Ghosts, demons, werewolves. We know how to find them, and how to end them. Most of the cold cases in police files, unsolved mysteries, the X-files type of stuff that people can't explain. Well, when the strange happenings stop, that's usually because a hunter came to town._

 _If there is ever a mystery you can't explain, you call one of us. We'll come, and we'll take care of it_.

The conversation was as fresh in Brian's memory as if it had happened yesterday instead of over twelve years ago. He had expected a belief in things 'not of this world' from a priest, but never something like this.

Brian had carried the knowledge of the supernatural quietly for the past decade. He had never spoken of it to anyone since the fire that took his daughter's life. The fire that had been set not by a human, not by accident, but by a demon. It was the rotten egg smell left behind, Pastor Jim had told him. There was nothing to be done about a demon. If it had left the area, there was no way to identify it, and no way to kill it.

It was the last time Brian had spoken to the priest. He'd stopped calling, not wanting to know more. The knowledge of the supernatural was the door to a dark world that Brian wanted no part of. That world had taken his daughter from him, and the boy she had brought into the family. The boy she had planned to marry. The boy who had become like a son to him and Sandy. The boy surrounded by the supernatural.

Sam Winchester.

Brian had made a decision the last time he saw Sam. They had all been at a crossroads of sorts, that day at Jessica's funeral. Sam's brother waiting by his side, ready who whisk him away in their rumbling old car to parts unknown. To a life of hunting. Sandy, welcoming Sam with open arms even after Jessica's loss, inviting him to stay part of the family.

Sam had gone with his brother, and never spoke with any of them again.

Except for one drunken phone call, which Brian thought may have been a sort of suicide note. Sam had been getting ready to do something dangerous, that was all he knew.

Hunting. It was a lifestyle best kept far away from Lakeport. The last time Hunters came to town, they'd brought monsters in their wake.

But the monster was already here. Brian had reviewed the reports over and over again. He examined the celtic mark, found on every body. He'd read the coroner's report, unable to match the claw and tooth marks to any known wildlife. It was clear that whatever was happening, it lay outside the realm of normal human experience.

This was a job for a Hunter.

Brian waited until Sandy went upstairs to bed before making the call. She didn't know anything about the dark side of the world, and he didn't want her to learn. Jessica had taken the knowledge in stride, but then, Brian wasn't sure she'd entirely understood what it meant. She hadn't seen what he had seen. Knowledge and experience are not the same.

There were four contacts in his phone, four Hunters that Brian could call.

He tried the priest first.

The cheery voice on the other end of the line suddenly went grim when Brian asked for Pastor Jim. It seemed he had died over ten years ago, found in a hidden room full of illegally-gotten guns and satanic lore. He'd kept the hunting world secret even from his own parishioners.

Next was Caleb, the gun runner and FBI informant. A practical man, and quiet. Brian had not spoken with him much. Caleb's phone was answered by a pizza parlor in New Hampshire.

Which left the Winchesters. Sam's father, John, had left a number with instructions to call if anything odd happened.

John's phone went to voicemail. Brian left a message.

Which left him staring at the last name on his contact list.

Sam.

Brian's stomach clenched. What had happened to the hopeful college student he'd known? He could be dead. He could be an entirely different person. Brian had seen young men coming back from war, he knew what that kind of work did to a man.

I should have checked on him.

It was his one regret. His choice to leave the world of the supernatural alone meant that Brian let Sam go his own way. He could have called, checked in, invited him for a holiday. But Brian didn't want more death in his family. Life had resumed a familiar pace. He had another daughter, and grandchildren to think about. The monster's in Sam's life didn't care about collateral damage. The Moore's had learned that from Jess.

But the supernatural had come to his town, whether Brian liked it or not.

Sam's message told him to call another number. The voice on the new phone was older, deeper. It asked him to leave a message.

What to say?

Brian sucked in a deep breath.

"Sam, this is Brian Moore. Jessica's father. I know we haven't spoken for awhile, but I've got a problem here. I think it might be the kind of thing you can help me with. Please call me."

Brian closed the phone with a sigh. Now all he could do was wait.

 **NOTE: So much has changed since Brian and Sam's last meeting! What will Sam's reaction be when he hears the messages?**

 **Please review!**


	2. Home

**NOTE: I significantly revised the last chapter. No story changes, but there is now a scene from Sandy's point of view.**

 **Chapter Two: Home**

Home. The word had taken a while to settle in. At first, Sam had resisted the very thought of it. Home was a place that burned. Home was a place where loved ones died. Home hadn't existed since the fire at Palo Alto that took Jessica and his dreams of a future without hunting away from him.

It wasn't until the Stynes broke into the bunker that Sam realized what the place had become. It was more than just a cool library, a clean place to crash, a safe fortress in the center of a chaotic world. Dean had known it from their first day here, but now Sam couldn't deny it either. The bunker was home.

Having a home meant he had something to lose. It meant he could be hurt again. The thought didn't scare him as much as it ought to. After losing Dean to the Mark, and the year-long fight to get him back. After facing Lucifer in the cage, again. After making the lose his brother rather than let the world end, Sam knew he couldn't be hurt again. There was nothing left to fear.

Maybe it was because Mom had been here. She was so different from anything Sam had ever imagined, in the few moments where he tried to breathe life into the hazy images Dad and Dean had sketched for him. She had given everything, just to have a home, only to have it all taken from her.

Sam knew exactly how she felt. He also knew that she would find her way home again, eventually, as he finally had.

He stumbled through the bunker halls, not bothering to watch where he was going. He knew the way to the kitchen, to the coffee. That was home; knowing the floor plan by memory. The aroma washed over him as soon as he entered the kitchen. That was home; being able to set the coffee maker to start up all by itself. He reached into the refrigerator for milk to go with his cereal, and drew back at the sour smell rising from the bottled. That was home; Dean refusing to throw anything out now that they had a fridge of their own.

After clearing out three bags of rancid take-out and pouring the sour milk down the drain, Sam sat back with his toast and coffee and pulled out the phone box.

It was a weekly ritual, unchanged by time or location. Every Monday morning they started the week by charging the phones and checking the messages. They had an entire credit card devoted to keeping the accounts open, so that they would not miss any calls for help made to old numbers.

The box told the tale of their lives. There was the old, bulky phone that John had first given Dean in high school. Next to it was the tiny Blackberry Sam had acquired at Stanford. Dad's old phone was there, the one he'd carried when he died, right next to Bobby's. There were several more old numbers that were forwarded to these phones. Sam had suggested several times that they get rid of the box and just set up an online account for the numbers. But Dean wouldn't let him. Handling these old phones week after week was a lifeline to the past, to people they had lost but refused to let go of.

Usually, the phones were empty. The messages were becoming fewer and fewer as the years passed. Today was different.

Sam set up straighter, coffee forgotten, listening intently to the familiar voice.

"Sam, this is Brian Moore. Jessica's father. I know we haven't spoken for awhile, but I've got a problem here. I think it might be the kind of thing you can help me with. Please call me."

It felt like the world had come to a full stop. Sam's thoughts, bent on breakfast and the familiar task, scattered. He stared at the phone, and let out a long breath. Brian Moore could have been his father in law. Sandy had been the closest thing to a mother he had really know. Jenna, the little sister he'd never wanted. They had welcomed him into their lives, adopted him like an orphan into their home.

Home. Once, Sam had thought Lakeport could become his home. He and Jessica had even gone house-shopping, planning for a future near her family. Sam could see her now, standing in the sunlit window of the empty home, promising him forever together.

Forever had lasted less than four months.

It was an old would, on Sam thought healed long ago. He'd gotten revenge. He'd moved on with his life. So why did his eyes suddenly sting with tears?

"Sammy?" Dean was standing across the table from him, eyes crinkled in concern. "You ok?"

Sam looked up, and the world re-formed around him. "What? Dean? Oh. I-I got message. From Jessica's dad."

"Jessica." Dean paused. "Jessica, your girlfriend at Stanford?"

Sam nodded.

"What did he say?"

"He needs my help. He didn't say why."

Dean nodded. "Alright then. Do you want to call him back now, or go ahead and start driving? It's, like, four am in California."

Dean could be obnoxious, liked to leave the fridge full of smelly food, and teased Sam so hard sometimes that as children, he'd asked Dad if he could trade for a different brother. But he always knew what was most important.

"I think we need to go."

"Right." Dean started pouring his coffee into a travel thermos and stuffed his mouth with toast. "Be ready in ten minutes."

000 Lakeport 000

7:58.

The hands ticked slowly across the face of Sam's watch. He stared at the hands, his stomach suddenly clenching. He had decided to wait until a decent, after-breakfast hour before calling Sheriff Moore. He had spent the first hour of the drive waiting anxiously, checking his watch every few minutes, until his spinning thoughts finally slowed down and allowed him to relax, and wait. Out the window was nothing but flat Kansas fields, followed by flat Nebraska fields. A familiar sight these days.

Then, the rosy dawn light brushed against a rising wall of rock on the horizon. The Rocky Mountains loomed into view, first a smudge, then an ever-growing wall that they would have to cross. Had crossed, more times than Sam could count. It was just another drive.

But this wasn't just another phone call. Sam stared at his watch. It was time. He'd decided to wait until eight, which would be seven California time, but what was two more minutes? Sam's fingers paused on his phone.

Dean glanced in his direction, raising one eyebrow. An offer of support, if needed. Sam shook his head, Dean turned his face back to the road. Sam sighed, and pressed the call button.

"Hello, you've reached Brian Moore." The voice was familiar, alert, without a trace of sleep. Brian had always been an early riser.

"Hi. Uh—It's Sam."

"Sam." The word as spoken long and thoughtfully. "I see you got my message. Thank you for calling."

"Sure. Of course. I mean, you're-" Sam stopped short of saying the word 'family.' He didn't want to offend. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Sam. Everyone is fine. But there's a problem here in Lakeport. I don't really know how to handle it."

Odd. Brian Moore had been able to handle anything Lakeport threw at him. "I'm not sure how we can help, but Dean and I will try. What's the problem, Sheriff?"

There was a soft chuckle. "You can call me Brian, Sam." It was an old argument. "Actually, I'm not the Sheriff anymore. The new Sheriff, well, you remember Deputy Mann?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He's Sheriff now?"

"Indeed. He is adequate to the task, on a normal day. This, however, is out of my depth as well as his. There have been a series of murders that I cannot explain. I hoped it would be the kind of thing your father and brother deal with. I suppose you do too, these days."

 _Our kind of thing_. The familiar words echoed in Sam's head. But the Moores didn't know anything about _that_. "What kind of thing are you talking about?"

"I saw the demon make that storm, Sam. I saw him pin your father to the road and your brother to his car. I had a long talk with your friend, Pastor Jim, who told me everything I never wanted to know."

Sam felt as if the world had been turned upside-down.

"You—you knew? All this time?"

"I knew."

"You never said anything."

"It was clear that you wanted no part of that world, so I didn't think there was any point in discussing it. I hoped that I would be able to ignore. That our lives could go on, like so many others, without being touched by the supernatural again."

"Oh." Sam had shared that hope, once upon a time.

"If you are still out, I wish you well." Brian's voice was gentle. Sam couldn't remember a time when the man had been rough or angry. He was all quiet calm, the opposite of Sam. "All I need to know is how to contact a hunter."

"I am a hunter." There was a time when Sam would have shied away from those words, but it was long gone. Time to get down to business. "Tell me about the murders."

000 Lakeport 000

Sam was quiet. His silence had defined the drive across the Rockies. It didn't matter how loud Dean cranked the music, Sam didn't complain. Dean drummed the steering wheel with both hands, causing the car to drift into the other lane, but Sam didn't turn and glare. He just stared out his window, thinking.

Thinking was always a dangerous thing with Sam.

Not that Dean could blame him today. He'd seen the electrified look on Sam's face when he listened to that message. Ever since, he'd been distant, lost in thought, or else intently pouring over the research for this hunt. It was their habit for Sam to do the preliminary research while Dean drove. With most books from the bunker now scanned into their computer hard drives, Sam could do the research anytime, anywhere, even on the road in the middle of the mountains with no wi-fi.

It had taken Sam about an hour to match the mark on the bodies with the lore, and determine that they were hunting a kelpie and the best methods to kill one. What had once taken days now took less than 60 minutes.

Which left Sam time to think.

What was going on in that head? Dean had often asked himself the question. As much as he prided himself on knowing Sam better than anyone else in the world, there were some things about this brother that would always remain a mystery. Why he ate salad. How he kept his toothpaste tube to clean and un-wrinkled. But of all the mysteries of Sam, the Stanford years remained the biggest gap. Sam had never shared much about what happened during that time, and Dean had never asked. He didn't want to hear about all of the fun Sam had had without him.

He didn't want to hurt Sam, by asking him to talk about Jessica. It was like talking about Mom, before she'd been brought back from the dead. They just didn't.

Until now, when things thought long buried came back into their lives. Of course, Jessica wasn't here, warm and alive the way Mom was. She was just a memory. But her family, that was different. Dean knew Sam had been close to the Moores. They'd made him a month's worth of casseroles, which Dean had promptly stolen, while Sam was recovering from a severe beating. They could have been family.

The thought had made Dean green with envy, once. But the old anger wasn't flaring up anymore. Dean had learned over the past decade that family was bigger than the people you were born with. Adding to family didn't diminish the one you had. It just gave you more of a good thing.

The Moore family had been good for Sam, once upon a time.

A lot had happened since then.

When they got to the motel, Sam vanished into the bathroom for half an hour, and came out fidgeting with his tie. He glared at Dean's jeans and flannel.

"Where's your suit?"

Dean scowled at Sam's Fed suit, better pressed than he'd ever seen it. "Dude, we can't go in as FBI on this one. They know who we are. We can't use any of our IDs, 'cause none of them have our real names on them."

"We're going to meet the Mayor, Dean. He's hired us as private investigators. We need to look professional." _I need to look good for this meeting_. Sam's look carried a warning for his brother to be on his best behavior today.

"Alright." Dean held up and hand in surrender and went to the bathroom to change.

Dean had to admit Sam made the right call when they arrived at City Hall and were escorted into a classy waiting area by a woman dressed in a sharp pant-suit. Dean flashed her an approving grin. She raised her eyebrow and set her mouth in a firm line, a polite, professional 'please don't waste your breath'. Dean frowned. Sam smacked him in the shoulder.

"Dean!" _Behave_! Sam's glare left no room for argument.

"Nervous?" Dean settled back in a cushy chair and examined the selection of magazines on the table. But Sam was poised on the edge of his seat, hands clasped.

"No. Yes. I mean-I don't know what to expect. I didn't think the Moores knew anything about what we do. Now-I don't know."

"Are you doing ok? I mean, that last time you were here, it was with Jessica."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I'm ok, Dean."

There were times when Dean wished he had x-ray vision, and the ability to read thoughts right out of Sammy's head. Hunting was dangerous business on a normal day. Hunting in a place where Sam had personal attachments… Dean planned to keep a very close eye on his brother for the next few days.

The woman in the suit came back and gestured for them to follow her. "Mayor Moore will see you now."

 **Please Review!**


	3. Many Meetings

**Chapter Three: Many Meetings**

Brian studied his reflection in the mirror. A wrinkled face stared back at him, topped with steel-gray hair. He'd gotten acquainted with the changes time had brought, but sometimes he still expected to see a much younger man looking back out of the glass. When he was Sheriff and wore khaki every day, Brian had never cared much about his appearance. Now, he kept a mirror in his office, to check that all was in order before press conferences and other important meetings.

A meeting with two private investigators from out of town would not normally send him to the mirror five times in ten minutes, fussing with wrinkles that didn't exist. Brian smoothed his shirt and closed his eyes.

This was no ordinary meeting.

He thought he'd closed that part of his heart. He'd thought it healed and over with, buried in time. But Sam's voice on the phone had brought back a swell of emotion that he wasn't prepared for.

Brian rose to his feet as the door opened.

He knew Sam the instant he saw him, and yet he didn't know him at all. The boy who left Stanford wore jeans and t-shirts, had a mop of messy hair and a sparkle in his eye that hid a dangerous temper. He was tall, but slender. This man was huge, tall and broad, in a suit to match Brian's with long, tidy hair. His smile was the same, but the light in his eyes had changed. There was something very, very different about Sam Winchester.

Sam held out his hand. "Mr. Moore. Brian."

"Sam." Brian clasped his hand warmly. He hadn't known what to expect. Sam had been at the top of the FBI most wanted list, along with his brother, for a time. He'd called to drunkenly confess to the murder of Jessica's killer. Yesterday, he had sounded so polite and professional on the phone, down to business as they discussed the case. But Brian had still half expected him to arrive looking like he belonged in a back alley at midnight with a serrated knife in one hand and a gun in the other.

There was an awkward pause as the two men studied each other. Sam's eyes glistened. What did he think of, after all these years?

The other man nudged Sam with an elbow.

"This is my brother, do you remember Dean?"

Brian shook the second man's hand; his grip was firm and solid, his hand full of calluses. "Dean, yes. I remember."

He remembered a young man with a cocky grin who wasn't afraid to ruffle feathers, and who assumed a body-guard position whenever Sam was in the room. Gruff, and dangerous already even then. But he also remembered two boys wrestling across the floor, fighting over a Monopoly piece.

"Mayor." Dean greeted him with a professional smile. "Nice place you've got here. Congratulations on the promotion."

Brian glanced around the office, all polished wood and shiny glass, designed to impress. It was not something he would have ever considered, before Jessica's death. Now, he inhabited the space with ease.

Twelve years had changed a lot.

"Yes, what made you decide to run? I thought you hated politics."

"When we lost Jessica, I retired. After a few years, I realized I needed something to keep me busy." Brian shrugged. "One thing led to another, and I landed here."

"Oh." Sam's voice was quiet, and his eyes shifted around the room uncomfortably, looking anywhere but Brian. Questions filled the empty space between them. The weight pressed on Brian's tongue. With so many things to say, nothing came out.

"So, you had a case for us?" Dean stepped into the silence with practiced ease.

"Yes." Brian grabbed the lifeline, letting it clear his thoughts. "The case. I sent Sam the coroner's report."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, it was nice not to have to hack the system for once."

Sam threw him a black look, and Dean cleared his throat apologetically. But there was no taking the words back.

"But we usually like to see the bodies in person. There could be something that was left out. We need to make sure we don't miss anything."

"Of course." Brian reached into his desk drawer and pulled out two ID badges. "Here you are, they should get you access to anything you need."

Sam and Dean stared at their badges. Dean's mouth moved, but no words came out.

"Once you see the bodies, what do you do next?" Did hunters follow a procedure anything like law enforcement?

"Well, I did some research on the way here." Sam pulled a printout from his pocket and handed it over to Brian. "I found a match for that symbol. We think it was made by a kelpie, a Scottish lake monster that drags people underwater to eat them."

Sam paused. Brian could feel the blood draining from his face. He'd known the victims had been eaten. But to hear it said out loud, as if it were as commonplace as a fox eating rabbits… Brian shuddered.

Sam pulled the paper back. "We can spare you the details, if you want."

What he wanted didn't matter. Brian had debated this with himself the day before. He could sit back and let the hunters work, and hope the problem went away. But he had been Sheriff too long to do that. "No, please. Tell me."

"Well, we're not entirely sure what the symbol is for. We'd like to interview the friends and family of the people who died. We need to know what happened. All of the odd details that were left out of the Sheriff's reports."

"Of course." Brian had left out details once himself.

"Hopefully, the interviews will help us figure out where the kelpie is. Then we set a trap for it, and kill it."

"I've heard some monster's can't be killed." So Pastor Jim had told him. For the worst of the worst, there was no permanent solution. It was a fact Brian tried not to think about in the dark hours of the night.

"Oh, anything can be killed." Dean spoke without hesitation.

"Demons?"

"We found a way." Dean patted his pocket with a smug grin. Brian's practiced eye could tell there was a weapon of some sort tucked away inside.

Sam looked at Brian under crinkled brows, as if waiting for some sign of revulsion.

Brian steeled his features not to show it. Business. This was just another case. "Alright then. I'll tell the coroner to expect you. When do you plan to check into your hotel?"

"Oh, we did that before we got here," Sam said.

"Oh? Where?"

Sam pulled his lip into his mouth for a moment before answering. "Lakeview Plaza."

Brian's lips quirked upward in half-smile. "Interesting choice."

The place where Sam had killed a man, and this entire drama had started.

Dean's eyes shifted between them, and he frowned. "What?"

"That won't do at all. I've set up an expense account for you." Brian held up a credit card. Dean reached for it, but he placed it firmly in Sam's hand. "And the manager at the Holiday Inn knows to expect you. It's not the nicest hotel in town, but it's clean."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Interesting choice."

"The city has an agreement with them, the paperwork for billing is easier, so I am told."

"Holiday Inn it is. They have a hot breakfast, right?" Dean looked like Christmas had come early. His eyes were fixed on the credit card in Sam's hand, which Sam quickly tucked out of sight.

"Yeah, Dean. But we've got work to do." Sam gestured to the door.

"Sam." Brian paused. It was not the best time for this question, but it needed to be asked. "Your father, he never answered his phone."

Sam and Dean both paused, sharing a look. Those two could speak paragraphs without saying a word. "He died a while ago."

"How?"

"On the job." The answer was swift and without emotion. John had been dead long enough for Sam to be well past his loss. Caleb. Jim. John. All dead. Brian watched the brothers leave, negotiating the narrow space of the door like two halves of the same being.

Did Sam have anyone else in his life to call family? The question wrenched at a part of Brian's heart he'd thought numbed long ago. He lowered himself back into his chair, all of the breath leaving him at once.

 _Sam is here_. It was real. He had arrived.

It was time to tell his wife.

000 Lakeport 000

Everything was the same, but not. The little differences screamed at Sam. He was used to different, to being in a new place every week. But he rarely returned to someplace he'd been before. He rarely saw people again, people he had care about. They were stuck in his memory just as he had left them, unchanged. Time moved on for him, but it left his memories untouched. Unchanged.

Seeing Brian had felt like a slap in the face. Sam knew the years had changed him. He'd died more than once, ruined and saved the world, how could it not? But he hadn't thought about time's effects on Lakeport and the people there. The shape of Brian's face was different, smaller somehow, sunken with age and subtly creased. Yet the man was the same; calm, poised and ready to take care of business.

Because that's all this was. Business. Another job, not a family reunion.

Walking through downtown felt like walking through the set of a movie, one that he had watched and re-watched a dozen times. Sam had revisited this place often enough that he felt he should know it like the handle of his gun. Yet there were subtle differences scattered through the scene, like a blooper that left a shadow of the crew in the frame, giving lie to the reality. Sam had spent only one summer here, and time had had twelve years to work changes through his memories.

The flowers in the pots adorning the light posts were a different color. The brick walkway was more chipped than he remembered. The Chinese restaurant where he'd taken Jessica for late-night take-out was shabby and worn. The locally owned coffee shop was gone entirely, with a new Starbucks across the street.

Before, when he walked these streets, people would smile, nod, stop and say hello. Everyone knew the Moores, and they had treated Sam like one of the family. Now, no one even glanced at him.

Until a slim, blonde woman stepped out of a resale boutique and paused on the step. Her eyes met Sam's for a brief moment. Her face crinkled, thoughtful. Then she shook her head and moved past him. It was her mind playing tricks on her. Something familiar, but not possible. Not here.

Sam closed his eyes against the thought of Jessica, alive and well and standing beside him. Blonde hair, confident smile, warm hand wrapped around his. It wasn't her. She was so like Jessica, but so different in so many ways, with a small child attached firmly to one hand.

Jenna. Sam stared at her retreating figure. Her hair, pulled back in a pony tail, swung across her shoulders. Jessica rarely pulled her hair back, she liked to let it flow free. Jenna as trimmer, a ball of energy where Jessica had been an oasis of calm. She checked her watch, shook her head, then quickly turned the other way. Late. Typical Jenna.

Sam could feel Dean's eyes on him, but he didn't say anything. Why should he expect Jenna to recognize him? It had been a long, long time. He was practically a different person. The boy Jenna had known had been left behind a long time ago.

It didn't stop the pang he felt. This place had moved on without him. He didn't belong anymore.

But Sam knew that. It was why he had stayed away.

Dean had also stopped, but he was staring at something else. He had his hand over his heart, a familiar look spreading across his face. Sam knew that look well. It was the look Dean wore before he found Nair in his shampoo, before he woke up with a spoon in his mouth and the music blaring, before he found the ringer on his phone taped down and the handles of his sink rigged with rubber bands. He had fresh ammunition, and he couldn't wait to use it.

"Aw, Sam! You never told me you were famous."

Sam stared at the building Jenna had entered; a karate dojo fronted by a wall-sized window half-covered by a life-size poster. It was faded with age, but the image was still clear. Two men circled each other, arms raised in a fighting pose. One was a thick man with a marine's haircut and his mouth open in an I-dare-you-grin. Jim Guster, retired marine and father of two. The other was a face Sam used to see every day in the mirror.

"I'm-How did they-Where did that even come from?"

"Someone taped the whole thing, don't you remember?" Dean grinned. "That was a good fight."

"That was twelve years ago."

Dean clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "And you're still good for business. Don't they need your permission to do something like that? We should sue."

Sam didn't bother to dignify that comment with a reply. Often, it was better not to argue with Dean's commentary. If he tried, it just got worse. Right now, Dean would take any bait Sam gave him. He always made himself extra annoying when something was bothering his brother. It was his duty to ensure that Sam was still connected to reality and not lost in thought by making him roll his eyes at least ten times a day.

The dojo door opened and a stream of parents and children in white karate uniforms spilled out, a girl with blonde, bouncy curls in the lead. She didn't look where she was going, and bounced off Sam's knees.

"Jessica!"

Sam wasn't sure what was happening. His heart felt like it had stopped, but he could hear it hammering in his chest. He held his hands ready, but there was nothing to fight. Only an eight-year-old looking up at him with familiar eyes.

"Jessica! You wait for me and you hold my hand before you cross the street!" Jenna grabbed the girl's hand and made to steer her away. She flipped her pony tail over her shoulder and stopped dead, staring at Sam.

"It _is_ you."

He wanted to lunge forward, warp his arms around her. She's always been more annoying than anything, but she was family. Sam kept his feet firmly in place, resisting the urge. Jenna was crouched and defensive, and he might get smacked if he tried.

"I-hi."

"I mean, really. Is it you? Sam?"

"Yeah, it's me. Jenna." Sam said the name, just in case. He hardly trusted his senses today. Everything was as he remembered, yet nothing was the same. This could be a random stranger. He could have made a mistake.

The little girl stared up at him, her hand wrapped around her little brother's arm. "Momma, who is that?"

Jenna bit her lip, and crouched down to be nearer her daughter's height. "Jessie, this is Sam. He was going to marry your aunt."

"Aunt Jessica," the little girl said solemnly. She frowned. "Is he coming for ice cream with us?"

"No," Sam said quickly. "No, we have somewhere else to be."

"Where?" Jenna asked. Clearly, the responsibility of parenting had made her no less nosy.

"With the coroner. Your dad hired us to investigate the strange deaths that have been happening by the lake."

Jenna put her hand over her mouth to cover a giggle. "Uh-oh. Sheriff Mann's going to loooove that." Then her eyes narrowed, and Sam resisted the urge to back away. He knew that look. "What is going on? Dad was super freaked about the lake. He said we can't go back until the case is solved. Why?"

"If he didn't tell you, I'm not going to either."

Jenna crossed her arms and nodded to the dojo. "Do I need to beat it out of you?"

Sam laughed. It rolled out of him, loosing the tension from his joints and bringing him squarely back to the now. "I think we've proven you can't."

"We'll see." Jenna gathered up her children's hands. "I have an ice cream date. We'll talk about this later."

Sam watched her cross the street, holding her children close. For a brief moment, he imagined her an inch taller, and less lean, with hair flowing freely over her shoulders. Jessica. His Jessica. She turned, smiled, and blew him a kiss. Then she was gone, and it was just Jenna.

000 Lakeport 000

The summer sun made the ice cream weep before it had even left the counter. Jenna's three children ate with no regard for napkins, or the state of their clothes. They had sticky fingers, sticky noses, and likely a sticky surprise left somewhere in the car after the ride home. Jenna had once been put off by body fluids and the other goo that accompanied babies. No more. Jenna was armed with wet wipes, but there was no point in getting them out until the ice cream was completely devoured.

Kara, sitting beside her, was still on her first child. She continually wiped her daughter's hands. The poor girl was only halfway through her cone, but her ballet tutu was spotless.

Abbi was busy chattering away about her ballet class. Tyler burbled in noises that imitated his big sister, but Jenna barely heard them. She was staring at her eldest daughter. The girl she had named after her sister. The girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to her namesake.

Jessie was busy staring at her ice cream, sparing occasional worried glances for her mother. Usually, she liked attention. But this wasn't the good kind.

Jenna bit her lip and looked away, but she couldn't chase away the sight of Sam's face, white as if he'd seen a ghost when Jessica nearly ran into his knees.

Perhaps the name had been a bad idea. Driven by hormones and her parents' decision to clear out Jessica's room and convert it for other uses, she'd been feeling very sentimental when the doctor asked for a name to put on the birth certificate. Sometimes, Jenna wished she had let the name lie. Let Jessica's ghost move on, free her daughter from the shadow of an aunt she would never know.

They'd tried to find a nickname, one that put a little distance between the child and her namesake. Jessie was different enough that no one got confused about who they were talking about. But the similarity remained…haunting.

Jenna pulled her thoughts away from the bitter memories to more pressing concerns. Sam Winchester was in town. Had been asked to come to town by her father. And no one had warned her.

Dad had freaked out and banned them all from the lake house for the time being.

Something was up.

Jenna licked the last of her own ice cream from her fingers and burrowed in her purse to find her phone.

"Hi Mom! Guess who I just saw?"

Sandy clearly didn't hear the warning tone in Jenna's voice. She asked, all innocent, "Who, dear?"

"Sam."

There was a pause. "Sam? I didn't know you had any friends named Sam."

"Sam Winchester. Jessica's Sam."

Jessie looked up at the sound of her name, staring at her mother. Jenna turned sideways and lowered her voice. "You remember, the tall bean-pole who stayed here one summer, got us packed off to witness protection."

"Sam." The surprised in Sandy's voice was not fake. Her breath whistled over the receiver as all the air exited her lungs. "Oh. My. What did he want?"

Jenna frowned. "You didn't know? Sam said Dad hired him to look into all those deaths near the lake. Like it's something other than a wild cat."

"Your father said that?"

"Sam said that."

"Oh."

Jenna knew when she had stepped into a hornets nest. It was best to back out slowly. "Yes, well…" _I thought you knew_ , was not the thing to say here. "I just, I was surprised to see him, you know?"

"Surprised. Yes." Rarely had a statement been so true. "How did he look?"

"Big. I mean, even bigger than before. And…" Jenna paused, remembering Sam's face. Once the shock had worn off, she had to admit, "He looked good, Mom. He looked like he's doing good."

"Good." Sandy's tone hardened. It was the tone that automatically made Jenna's spine straighten, even though she knew her mother's ire wasn't directed at her. "I think your father and I need to talk."

Jenna closed the phone, wishing she could be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation. She tossed the phone back in her purse and reached under the lip of her shoe to rub her heel. There was a strange set of scratches there, almost like a pattern, but it that was impossible. She had scraped it against something while swimming was all. It was raw and red and sore. She winced and re-adjusted the edge of her shoe over the spot.

A round set of scratches that resembled a celtic knot.

 **NOTE: What will Sandy's reaction be? What will Sam and Brian do when they realize that Jenna has the same mark as the victims?**

 **Please review!**


	4. Through the Lies

**Chapter Four: Through the Lies**

 _Sam is here_.

Sandy set the phone down and wrapped her arms around her chest. Sunlight filled the room, but everything suddenly felt cold.

It happened sometimes, in this space that had once belonged to Jessica. They had moved on as best they could. Jessica's things were gone, all but a few mementos up on a shelf. Her favorite stuffed bear. A bundle of dried flowers from her gravesite. Her senior picture and flute from marching band. Everything else was gone; donated, sold, or stored in the attic. The room was filled with toys, a play space for Jenna's children.

They had hoped that the sound of children's laughter would drive the demons from the room. Most days, it did. This had become a happy space again. Except every once in a while, when memories turned bitter and the cold seeped in. In those times, Sandy often thought she saw Jessica, a transparent form made of shadows and hope, reaching for her from the corner or drifting across the floor.

The feeling only ever lasted for a moment. It was an old ache, the regret that came with any unexpected loss. Even now, Sandy wished for a chance to see her daughter one last time, to say a proper good-bye.

Sam.

Sam had been the last person to see Jessica alive. The last person to see her smile, to hold her close and say I love you.

Sandy had left him with an invitation. She had waited and hoped. She'd even sent an email or two. But Sam had never answered, never called, never tried to reach out. Sandy had resigned herself to the fact that she had lost him in that fire as well.

"Sam." The word was barely a whisper, the voice familiar. A flicker of blonde hair, a glint of pleading blue eyes, a reaching hand. The sensation only lasted a moment, but it was unmistakable.

Sandy shivered, and moved to turn the thermostat down. She paused in the doorway, looking at the empty room. "I would have taken care of him, sweetheart, but he didn't want me to."

He'd driven off into the night with his brother, into a world of secrets that she had never fully understood. Now he was back, and Sandy knew one thing for sure.

Her husband had lied to her.

000 Lakeport 000

Dean Winchster. Private Investigator. Provide all due assistance.

Dean stared at the ID in his hand. The neat row of black letters stared back, unchanged. His name. His real name, not one he had made up. His name, his face, and a job title that fit well enough. Issued to him by a representative of the government.

John had given Dean his first ID when he was fourteen. It said he was sixteen, of course, so that if anyone caught him driving, he wouldn't get into trouble. When Dean was sixteen, he'd made his own ID, saying he was eighteen. Just in case something happened to Dad, Dean would be able to pass as an adult. It was a relief, to know that he couldn't be taken by Child Services anymore. Of course, he'd also made himself an ID that claimed he was 21. He hadn't told Dad about that one.

Dean had used more IDs that anyone he knew. But this was a first.

His first real ID. His first legal ID.

The thought stuck in him like a hook, tying him to this place. When he entered a new town, he created a new name for it. He didn't have to worry about how people saw him, because he would leave within a few weeks. He lied to most people with the first words he said to them, and there was never any need for real truth after. Even with Lisa, Dean had used a fake ID and a fake last name to get work.

Here, he couldn't pretend. He was Dean Winchester.

The idea tingled, worming through him. Here, he was real. He was a Winchester to everyone he met. Here, he was more than the hunter who would pop in for a day, spin a few lies, kill a monster, and leave again. Sam had history here, and so did he. They were connected to this place, whether Dean liked it or not.

Because this was not Sam's first real ID. Dean had never really asked, but he knew Sam had real ID when he left Stanford after the fire. He would have had to use his real Social Security number to receive his scholarship. To work for the Sheriff.

Was this how Sam had felt?

They had long ago moved past Sam's desire to leave the hunting life. In the past few years, he'd demonstrated to Dean more than ever that he wasn't going anywhere again. It was a dedication that unnerved Dean, no matter how much he had wanted exactly that from Sam years ago. It was only in the last few years that Dean had begun to acknowledge how hard the hunting life was on himself.

He hadn't been able to see it then, but he could feel it now. The warmth, the hope, that came with this place, and the idea of a home that didn't go away. He could understand why Sam would walk away from everything to get a taste of that.

Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

Dean slipped the badge back into his pocket and turned to his brother. Sam was still sitting in the car, staring out the window but not seeing a thing. Not seeing the present anyway. What was he remembering now?

"Hey, are you coming or do you want me to do this?"

Sam shook himself and looked up at Dean. "Oh. Yeah. I'm ready."

"Uh-huh." Dean didn't argue. There wasn't likely to be any danger at the morgue. Kelpies, at least, weren't known for leaving corpses that would get back up again.

A young man with pasty-pale skin and fingers calloused from playing too many video games sat at the front desk.

"Private Investigator D-"

"Oh, you guys are the investigators working for the Mayor! He called a few minutes ago. I've got the corpses all ready for you."

"I've got ID-"

"Nah, that's ok. I know you guys. You're Sam. Right? Beat up Jim Guster, I saw the viedo. Nice poster. I took some classes, until I broke my arm and Mom made me stop." The kid's eyes were wide with hero-worship.

"You really should check our ID-"

"I hoped you would be here a little sooner." The kid rattled on, ignoring Dean. He was already moving down the hall, beckoning them to follow.

Dean frowned, and shoved the ID back in his pocket, annoyed. His first real ID, and he didn't even get to use it.

"Mayor Moore said you would be by soon. But you must have stopped for lunch or something, because it's been nearly an hour since he called. And Sheriff Mann called about ten minutes ago, and he's coming to sign off on final paperwork for disposal of the bodies. So he's gonna be here soon. Do you think you'll take very long?"

"I'm sure the Sheriff can wait a few minutes if he gets here before we're done."

Sam snorted and shook his head. "Um, no, Dean, I don't think he will. You met Sheriff Mann, only he was a deputy then. I think you and Dad both tried to crash in his 'secret hideaway.'"

Just like Sam, to dance politely around the finer things in life. "Wait a minute. You mean the guy with the porn collection in the abandoned shack off the highway is Sheriff now? He was a dick."

"Yeah."

"Yeah," the receptionist agreed. "So, if you guys could get this over with before he gets here, that would be great. He didn't call until after Jane, the Mayor's secretary, went to lunch with her boyfriend, who works in dispatch at the Sheriff's office. So I'm betting he's gonna try to get here before you two. I just deal with dead bodies, we don't have the equipment here to handle crime scenes."

"That bad, huh?" Dean shivered as the entered the cold morgue.

The receptionist nodded, and pulled open three drawers. "It wasn't so bad, when Sheriff Mann won the election. He's a good guy, most of the time. But then, when Mr. Moore ran, and suddenly Mann's old boss was his new boss, and tried to give him a few pointers…it didn't go well." He flinched at the memory. "So, these are the bodies you want. It's about a gross as it gets around here. D'you need anything else?"

The kid vanished before Dean could shake his head.

"Well. Maybe we should stay. Sounds like the fireworks between Mayor and Sheriff would be-" Dean stopped under Sam's fierce glare.

Behave! Sam's warning from earlier echoed in his head. The girlfriend was dead, there was no need to impress the prospective father-in-law anymore. Still, Sam acted as if he were meeting the parents for the first time.

"Or we could get this done quick." Dean bent over the first canister. There wasn't even enough of the corpse to lay out on the table. He pulled on rubber gloves and poked at the congealed goo that had once been blood and organs. Hardly anything was left. All of the soft tissue had been eaten away, leaving just scraps. He pulled a bit of seaweed from between a set of toes.

"So, we've got to figure out where this thing's lair is. Any chance this weed only grows in one part of the lake?"

Sam turned around, holding a longer bit of seaweed. "No idea. We can take it to the forensics lab."

"The lab is processing evidence from crime scenes for my office. You'd have to wait at least a month for your results." The challenging tone in that voice was the sound of an officer willing to fight over jurisdiction. Dean knew the tone well. He sent enough disgruntled cops away from crime scenes now claimed by the 'FBI'.

Would his real badge be as effective? Private Investigator ranked a little lower then Fed. Did it out-rank a Sheriff?

Sam rolled his eyes before turning to face the khaki-clad man filling the doorway behind them. Sheriff Mann bounced on the balls of his feet, ready for a fight, a bull defending his territory. At the sight of Sam's face, he rocked back on his heels, gaping.

"Winchester."

"Hi." Sam's voice remained smooth and calm; the tone he used to persuade hysterical trauma survivors to cough up important details. "We're just here to do a bit of research for the Mayor. We don't plan to interfere in your investigation in any way. Please, let us know if we get in your way. We're working on a project to better track how people wind up in the path of dangerous animals. Hopefully, our research will reduce attacks like this in the future. Tell hikers and swimmers areas and times to day to avoid, provide safety tips, that kind of thing."

"Research." Mann paused, deflated. "Oh. That's not what I…"

"Did the Mayor give you an official statement on our purpose here?"

"Well, no."

"Gotta be careful about new that comes through the rumor mill." Dean moved past the Sheriff, patting him on the shoulder. Sam sidled past him, keeping his eyes down. Dean put out his arm to stop him walking into the man waiting in the hallway, Mayor Moore. Sam jumped back, startled.

"May-I mean Mr-Brian. Uh, hello again."

"Hello, Sam." Brain had his thumbs hooked through his belt, a curious expression on his face, as if he was really seeing Sam for the first time. "I heard the Sheirff was on his way. I thought I might need to rescue you. It seems you've handled it yourself."

Sam just shrugged.

Now it was Dean's turn to rock back on his heels. It was true. Twelve years ago, Sam would never have walked calmly away. He would have dug into the argument just because Sheriff Mann was being annoying. But today, he'd handled Mann as smoothly as any upset witness.

"We'll work on interviews next," Sam said. "But it would help to get this seaweed analyzed, see what part of the lake it grows in."

The mayor took the sample bag and nodded. "I'll see that it gets done and send you the report."

"Thank you, sir."

 _Sir_. Sam had only called on other man 'sir' in his entire life.

Family. They were here because of family, yet Sam and Brian could only seem to talk business. They stood there for a moment in awkward silence, then Sam moved toward the door.

 _This hurts to watch_. It was worse than being constipated, holding all that emotion in. Sooner or later, it would explode, a messy soup of words from Sam, dumped on his brother at the worst possible moment. Unless Dean could find a way to get these two to clear the air first.

000 Lakeport 000

Irony.

That seemed to be the word for everything that happened today. First, the Lakeview Motel. Then, running into Jenna and her daughter-Jessica-at the karate dojo. And now, they were at the Holiday Inn. A professional writer couldn't come up with a more ironic series of events. Especially this room. Closest to the fire escape. Best view of incoming traffic but worst angle of fire from surrounding buildings. It was second nature to pick the safest, most defensible room at any motel. Strickler had stayed here, twelve years ago, plotting to kill Sam. He would have had the same training, the same priorities for room choice.

"Hey, you think this is the room that guy was in?" Dean circled the room, marking the weakest and most defensible positions, setting out weapons in handy places. "I mean, it would make sense."

"Yeah." Sam stared out the window at the pool, the clear blue water reflective of the sky above. My thoughts exactly.

He knew there were no ghosts here. Jessica was gone, completely. Time had moved on, people had changed. Yet it still felt as if the entire town was haunting him, taunting him, with the past that he had left behind and the future that could have been.

He swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. His stomach ached, even though they had eaten not long ago. This feeling had nothing to do with food. It was the empty space, the missing feeling he had thought he left behind long ago. Funny, how it could come back all at once, just as strong as the first time, when he'd stared at the burned-out apartment and later Jessica's grave.

Gone.

He'd tucked the idea of Lakeport and everything it represented away in his mind, as if it, too, had burned in the fire. He had seen the Moores after the funeral, but had never thought about them continuing their lives after. After Jessica died, that life ceased to exist.

Except that it was still here. He had chosen to be a hunter. He wasn't going to leave the life. But he missed this.

"Earth to Sammy!"

Sam blinked and turned to face his brother. Dean glowered, eyes attempting to bore through his skull. "Are you with me?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. If he said anything else, Dean would threaten to pack them up and call in a different team.

Dean frowned, unconvinced. "Look, Sam, if we need to call another hunter in on this one, we can. I can't have you distracted out there. When we find this thing, I need you focused."

"I know how to hunt, Dean." It didn't matter how old he got, how capable he proved himself to be. In moments like this, Dean always went into protector-mode. It had been comforting, when Sam was small. These days, it could also be extremely annoying.

"You've got a lot of history here, Sam. You know what kind of trouble that can lead to. If you've got stuff you need to work out-"

Sam sighed and looked out the window again. "I need to do this one, Dean. I can't walk away and leave it to another hunter."

"Alright." Sam could tell by Dean's tone that he was backing off. For now. "Here."

A wad of fabric slapped Sam in the face. He caught it, and held up a pair of swim trunks covered in tropical flowers. "What the-?"

"They have a pool, Sam. When was the last time we stayed in a hotel with a pool?" Dean had his own pair of trunks and was already headed toward the bathroom to change. "We can't do anything more tonight. Might as well have fun."

Sam felt himself smiling. The hole in his chest felt smaller. When was the last time he had gone swimming? Actual swimming for fun, and not diving in after a drowning person to save them?

Twelve years ago, with his buddies at Stanford.

000 Lakeport 000

Sandy knew as soon as Brian walked in the door that he was bracing for a fight. His mouth was set in a line, and he refused to meet her eyes at first. Sandy waited in the living room, arms crossed. Brian paused when he saw her.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

 _Drat_. She had wanted to see if he would initiate the conversation, before he realized she was onto him. Well, if she played dumb, that would make her the liar here, wouldn't it?

"No. Is there something we need to talk about?"

Brian winced. "How did you know?"

"First tell me whatever is you're getting ready to tell me."

Brian nodded and gestured to the couch. They both settled comfortably. Sandy fixed her husband with an expectant look.

"You remember Sam Winchester?"

How is that even a question? "Yes."

"He's in town. I saw him today."

"Yes."

Brian squirmed, unnerved by her lack of surprise. "I hired him and his brother to investigate the deaths that have been occurring around the lake."

Sandy gaped. "Sam? Sam is your private investigator?"

Brian nodded. "Yes."

No! This was all wrong. "Why? He was going to be a lawyer."

"He went back to his family, and the family business."

Her stomach wrenched. The family business, where he had learned how to spot snipers, how to take a knife from an opponent in a fight. How to kill without flinching. She had never learned exactly what the 'family business' was. Sandy's eyes narrowed. Somehow, Brian had. _Liar_! "How long have you known?"

Brian didn't flinch from the heat in her voice. "Since he worked for me over the summer."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sometimes, a lie had a reason. Sometimes.

"It's not a pleasant story, and he wanted it kept private. It was his information to share, not mine."

Sandy sighed. That was a good reason. But it didn't stop her asking, "So, what is the family business? Investigating grisly murders?"

"Particularly strange and bloody cases, yes. Cases that the police can't solve through normal means."

"Normal means," Sandy repeated. "Brian, did you hire a pair of private investigators to go around breaking the law for you?"

Brian blinked, as if he truly hadn't considered it in that way before. "Well, I-" he stammered. "As Mayor, I'm entitled to hire private investigators to resolve city matters."

"Yes, but the only things a private investigator would do for you that the Sheriff can't would involve illegal activity."

"It's not so much illegal as it is pursuing theories the Sheriff refuses to consider." Brian shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't ask much about their methods."

"You remember what his father was like. He was wanted by the FBI, and the ATF." What had caused Brian's logic to short-circuit? Sandy's stomach churned. "What do you think is happening, Brian? What do you think is killing those people?"

"Hopefully, we'll know soon."

Brian's lips pressed together, tighter than a steel trap. That was all the answer she would get tonight.

Sandy closed here eyes and shivered. It was all too much. Death surrounded her. The memory of her daughter's death. The deaths at the lake. The deaths that could happen in the future. Brian wrapped an arm around her.

"We will be alright. Sam is…Sam has grown up a lot. He and his brother know what they are doing. This will all be over soon."

Sam. Sandy frowned. "Where is he staying? He's in town, and you didn't invite him to dinner?"

"I didn't know if you would want to."

Sandy glared at her husband, and he smiled. "I'll invite him next time I see him. Alright? How did you find out, anyway?"

"Jenna saw him at the park. She said she barely recognized him. He's gotten bigger, apparently. I don't see how that's possible." Sam had been tall enough before, and ate more than she had seen any one person eat before. I need to go shopping. With his brother in tow, she probably didn't have enough food in the house to sate them.

"Ah, but it's true. He's huge." Brian paused, thoughtful. "It's more than that, though. He's grown up. I don't know where he's been or what he's been doing, but he's changed."

The lights flickered. Brian frowned up at the ceiling. "We just had the wiring checked last month. What could be the problem now?" Some days, it felt like the house was just in a bad mood. No matter what they tried, some things just wouldn't work right.

"I'll call the electric company in the morning. Come on." Sandy reached for her purse. "We need to get groceries, and I'm not carrying all those bags by myself."

Brian raised his eyebrows, but didn't complain, just followed her out the door.

 **NOTE: Dinner at the Moores, coming soon! Please Review. I love hearing your thoughts.**


	5. Two Hours Past Midnight

**NOTE: So sorry for the delay in updates. Holidays and a new job have made life crazy. Updates will be slower for a little while, but I promise I will not leave this story unfinished!**

 **Chapter Five: Two hours past midnight**

The water was cool, lapping around Sam's arms and legs, ticking the surface of his belly. A prefect antidote to the sweltering sun. He floated, weightless, making little circles with his arms and legs. Just enough to keep his head above the water. Eyes closed, he let the sun wash over him.

 _Whoosh_!

Sam gasped at the cold spray of water that poured over him. A hand tugged at his wrist, interrupting the delicate rhythm that kept him afloat. He rolled in the water, arms flailing, until his feet struck the bottom of the pool and he pushed skyward. He emerged from the water with a gasp to the sound of laughing.

Jessica had her head thrown back, hands held over her mouth. Her glee was infectious, nullifying any irritation Sam felt, making him want to laugh, too.

But first, he pulled his arms back, cupping his hands, and pushed a wave of water toward her. She shrieked and ducked under the water. Now it was Sam's turn to let out a laugh.

Jessica twirled through the water, her hair a ribbon of gold in her wake, and ran her fingers up his belly as she surface, nose-to-nose with her boyfriend. Sam's laughter died, his lips changing gears instantly. He leaned forward as she rose up, and their lips met. He caught her around the waist, the water helping to hold her, and they melted together into the moment.

"You are horrible!" He said, when they finally came up for air.

"Look who's talking." Jessica slapped water at him, but this time it was barely enough to tickle his shoulder. "I thought you said you were going to spend the afternoon studying. I got off work early, I come home with a pile of study food for you, but where are you?"

"I just needed a little break, you know." Sam worked his fingers up and down her back. "There's only so long I can stare at pictures of molecules."

Jessica frowned. She'd always been able to tell when he was lying. She didn't always call him on it, but she always knew. "Still thinking about what happened back at home." Lakeport. Snipers and demons and his family showing up in the middle of his summer internship.

Sam looked away. There was no point in denying it. "It doesn't matter."

Jessica let out a little huff, and placed her hand on his cheek. "Yes, Sam, yes it does. If something is bothering you, it matters."

He turned to kiss the palm of her hand, and leaned his forehead against hers. "I just wish I could forget it all, you know? I wish none of it had ever happened."

"Well, I don't."

He pulled back. "What?" She had been shot at, placed in witness protection.

She wrapped her fingers through his hair to keep him from pulling away. "I don't want to change any bit of you, Sam. And I don't want to change your family. If anything had happened differently anywhere in your life, you wouldn't be you. And I'm here with you."

The warmth wrapped around them, the California sun sparkling against the water. Jessica slipped away. "But if you aren't going to study, I guess I'll just have to take all those snacks I brought over to the frat house. I'm sure the guys can find something to do with them…"

"Oh, no!" Sam splashed after her, out of the pool and up the stairs to their apartment.

The door closed behind him, shutting out the sun. Stars sparkled through the windows. Jessica moved through the shadows like a ghost in her white silk nightgown. She gleamed in the starlight, a phantom. Sam reached out to touch her, but there was no flesh there, only memory.

"Where have you been? I've been waiting for you." She reached toward him, but the instant she stepped out of the pool of starlight, she was gone. The apartment was empty but for the lingering smell of fresh-baked cookies.

Sam's eyes opened to the glow of the digital clock. He stared at the ceiling, but there was nothing there. No blood, no flames, no Jessica.

Odd. He had never dreamed her before, without it ending in her death. He would wake to the smell of burning flesh. But now his stomach grumbled for cookies.

The last time Jessica had visited him in his dreams, it had been Lucifer in disguise. Sam shuddered at the thought, but with no real fear. He knew the arch-angel's ways by now. He would not be fooled again. This was dream, nothing more.

It was this town. It was messing with his head, bringing up things that had been settled long ago. There was nothing to work through here, no unresolved emotional issues to solve. He had moved past that years ago. This was only a hunt, not a soul-searching journey for closure.

Even so, he couldn't close his eyes again. Sam flipped back the covers and went to the window. Night was not dark in the city, not really. Street lights ensured that no matter what time of day it was, true darkness never really existed. You could always see what was around you.

It was probably why monsters preferred sewers and old abandoned buildings. Rarely had Sam and Dean met a monster who walked the streets, even at night.

There was movement in the parking lot below. Sam cocked his head at the sight of a parade of vehicles pulling in. They were all police vehicles, the blocks of lights perched on the roof of each car visible in the lamp-light. But the blue and white flashing lights were not on. No siren could be heard. The men who poured out of the vehicles moved quietly, communicating with hand signals. They streamed through the doors of the hotel. Sheriff Mann's big, beefy figure brought up the rear.

Not good.

Sam shook Dean by the ankle. "Dean! Wake up. I think we're about to have company."

00 Lakeport 000

"I wish they all could be California girls…"

A merry tune played in Brian's ear, worming its way through his sleep, bidding him to open his eyes. Brian squinted in the darkness. A soft glow beckoned from the bedside table. He frowned, his foggy mind not yet awake enough to connect any meaning to the strange apparition.

"Honey, answer your phone," Sandy mumbled without waking up. She rolled over and placed a pillow firmly over her head.

Phone. Brian reached forward and placed his hand over the light. The ringtone stopped for a moment, the call going to voicemail. A second later, it started again. His screen showed three missed calls already.

Not Jenna. It was the first and most important thought his mind could summon. Brian squinted at the clock. Nearly 2 am. Imminent death or other emergency was the only reason his daughter would call at this hour.

He willed his eyes to make sense of the letters scrolling across the screen. Gloria. Brian frowned. He checked the clock again. Two am stared back at him.

No earthquake shoot the ground under his feet. No fire sirens wailed through the streets. All was quiet. Why would his office assistant call him at this hour?

The phone began to ring again. Brian moved his thumb to swipe the call button.

"Yes?" His voice was hoarse and thick even to his own ears.

"Mayor! Oh, thank goodness." Gloria's voice burst over his ears, and he pulled the phone back slightly. "Sir, Sheriff Mann has taken an attack force to the Holiday Inn. He's gone to arrest the Winchesters. Says they're wanted by the FBI. I thought you might want to know before it hits the papers in the morning. Since you hired them and all. The city council is going to…"

Brian frowned at the darkness as the words filtered through is mind. Winchesters. Arrest. FBI. Sheriff Mann.

 _Uh-oh_. Brian had settled that issue with Sam on the phone. At least, Brian had asked, and Sam had insisted they were framed. There was no proof, and not much else to say. The matter was settled, as far as Brian was concerned. He hadn't given it a second thought.

Sheriff Mann, apparently, had given it plenty of thought. He had been oddly quiet, back at the morgue. Too quiet, Brian now realized. If he remembered the wanted posters, if he thought the Winchesters were dangerous murders, he wouldn't be stupid enough try to arrest them alone. He would retreat, assemble a task force, and take them by surprise.

At 2 am, when they were sound asleep in their hotel room.

Brian shuffled across the room, shrugging on clothing, his feet searching for his shoes. "Did Mann call the FBI in, or is he going after them himself?"

"He's going to catch them himself, then call the FBI in the morning."

Of course Sheriff Mann would want all of the credit. "Good. I'm on my way."

000 Lakeport 000

Clean. White sheets, stain-free carpet, shiny bathroom fixtures, mold-free tile. The Holiday Inn was easily the nicest place Dean had ever stayed. It smelled of bleach and other cleaning chemicals, but that was ok. The card on the pillow promised hot breakfast in the morning, and there was free coffee right there in the room.

Dean stepped gingerly across the floor to retrieve a cup now. It was cold; he had brewed it before they went to bed. But the bitter taste hit the back of his tongue in a satisfactory way. Bitter, cold, dark. That about summed up this night.

The room was trashed. Furniture was upturned and titled at odd angles, and shadows played on the ceiling because the lamp was on the floor. Glass from the shattered window gleamed on the carpet, a minefield of crystal confetti. Dean curled his bare toes inward and glared at the five men lying on the floor, shaking in their khaki Sheriff uniforms.

"Why?"

Sam glanced up from cuffing the last man, forehead crinkled under his sleep-tousled hair. He too was barefoot, dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt for sleeping. "What?" Usually, it was Sam who asked the deeply philosophical, 'what's the meaning of life' questions. Usually, they were both asleep at 2 am.

"Why?" Dean asked again. "I mean, we didn't break any laws. I should know. I parked my Baby in a safe spot. I paid for my dinner with cash. I even have a real ID. Has my name on it an everything." He stared down that the Sheriff and his deputies, all looking a little worse for wear. Red marks on their faces, most of them the size of Dean's fist, showed where bruises would start forming by morning.

Dean flexed his fingers, sore from all the hard work they'd had to do so unexpectedly. "I mean, I know I'm not the nicest guy. I can be annoying. I tell inappropriate jokes. I put my feet up on the Mayor's coffee table, it's true. I'm on your turf, working an investigation in your territory. You have a right to be annoyed. Hell, I would be."

Dean sipped at the coffee again, made a face, and tipped it down the drain. "But that's what banter is for. You insult me, I insult you, we all go home feeling better about ourselves. Most cops leave it at that. But you-"

Dean's feet landed in front of Sheriff Mann's nose, and he bent down to give the man his most earnest 'there will be pain' expression. Sam winced.

"You have to barge into my room at 2 am. Two A M. I was asleep. In a comfortable bed. A clean bed." The bed was tipped on its side now, blankets trampled across the floor, a muddy boot-print visible in the middle of the white sheet. "So I ask you. Why?"

Sam cocked his head, and looked down at Sheriff Mann. "He has a good point. What are you doing here?"

There had not been much chance to exchange words when the Sheriff's team broke through the door demanded the Winchesters put up their hands in surrender. The Winchesters, of course, declined to cooperate, and thus the Sheriff and his men found themselves face-first on the floor.

"You're a murderer." Sheriff Mann returned Dean's glare with equal venom. "I saw what you did to those people at that bank, and in that diner. The FBI will be here for you soon."

"Bank? Diner? FBI?" Dean stared that the red-faced man on the floor, and then glanced up at Sam. It was too late-or early-for riddles. "Is he talking about those two Leviathan? That was, like, five years ago."

"There is not statue of limitation on murder," Mann growled.

"That wasn't us," Sam said, his voice pained. Dean glanced his brother up and down. No sign of injury. Did Sam actually care what the Sheriff thought of him? But Sam's eyes were fixed over Dean's shoulder. Dean turned to see Mayor Moore standing in the doorway, hands raised to show he was unarmed, stepped forward carefully so as not to alarm anyone.

"I know," Brian said, meeting Sam's eyes. He turned to fix the Sheriff with a stern eye.

"Mayor!" Sheriff Mann rolled into a sitting position.

Brian's face was impassive as he stepped forward, eyes never leaving the Sheriff. "Tell me, Sheriff, am I growing senile in my old age? Have I started forgetting simple things? Do I act like a man who is losing his mind?"

Sheriff Mann scowled, a sulky look spreading across his face. "No."

"Do you believe I would endanger anyone in this town? Endanger my daughter, or my wife?" Brian's voice was soft, but sharp as steel. Sheriff Mann wilted as the Mayor moved closer. It was beautiful to watch.

"No, sir."

"Then why are you here, Sheriff?"

"These men are wanted by the FBI! You saw the alerts yourself, five years ago."

"I did." Brian paused, letting his point sink in. Every man in the room was leaning forward, hooked. Dean had seen a lot of men manipulated before, but he'd rarely seen a showman this good. Because that's what this was, a show.

"I remember other information from the FBI as well. They called off the manhunt. The killers were caught. Dead. Gone."

"Clearly they got away!"

"Clearly, it was someone else." Brian tapped his forehead. "You have all the pieces, Sheriff, right there in front of you, but you only saw what you wanted to see."

"You only see what you want to see when it comes to Winchester."

Brian drew back, as if stung, and stared up at Sam. "Oh, no, I see far more than I want, Sheriff. Believe me."

Sam stared at the floor.

"The Winchesters did not commit those murders. They were framed, and when you call the FBI, they will tell you that they no longer have an active warrant for the Winchesters. If you arrested them, the FBI would not come to collect them. Am I right?"

Sam nodded.

 _Yeah, because Charlie hacked the database and deleted our file_. But neither Sheriff nor Mayor needed to know that.

"So, Sheriff. It seems you had no authority to break into this room and assault these men."

Mann's face was flickering through emotions as he tried to make these facts fit reality as he saw it. "You're sure? I mean, that video-"

Dean grimaced.

"I'm sure. I would not bring men capable of that kind of violence anywhere near my town or my family. Do you believe that?"

Sheriff Mann closed his eyes and looked away. "Yes."

"So, when I unfasten these cuffs, what will you do?"

"Send my men home. Order them to forget this ever happened."

"Yeah, and I'll send you the cleaning bill," Dean said.

Sam and Brian gave him identical glares. No wonder they got along so well.

Brian pulled the key out of Sheriff Mann's pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. "Next time, Sheriff, if you have a concern, please speak with me first. It is best for the town, and everyone who relies on us, if we can work together."

"Next time, Mayor, if you are going to bring someone in to take over my investigation, speak with me first." Mann rubbed his wrists and rose to his feet stiffly, pride intact despite the beating he'd taken.

Dean knew how to deal with law-men, and he knew he hadn't seen the last of this one.

000 Lakeport 000

Sam felt the last bit of tension seep from his shoulders as the door closed behind the Sheriff and his men. He had given up hope that this would all turn out to be a strange dream. It was too sharp, too clear, and there was a persistent ache in his ribs where one of the deputies had managed to land a solid kick.

If he hadn't been awake, if he hadn't looked out the window at the right moment, if the Sheriff had busted in on a sleeping Sam and Dean, they would both be in jail right now. Usually, people under-estimated them. It wasn't since Agent Henricksen was chasing them across the country that a law-man had come after Sam and Dean with such fervor.

The Sheriff had appeared cowed as he slunk out the door, hissing strict orders to his deputies that this was never to be spoken of again. But there was still venom in his eyes. Mann would not accept his humiliation. There would be more trouble to come.

For now, they were left with a wrecked room and an awkward silence. Sam turned to Brian, words spilling from his moth. "Thanks," he said. "For what you said to Sheriff Mann. I thought-I wasn't sure how much you actually trust us."

Dean's voice cut through his swell of happiness, shattering it with a few words.

"He doesn't trust us at all, Sammy." Dean glared at both of them, arms crossed. "He's just trying to be nice about it. You're both being so polite that you haven't really said anything to each other since we got here. That's how we landed in this mess. You," Dean jabbed his finger at the Mayor, "weren't prepared to handle your people."

Brian's response was quiet and calm, as was every action the Mayor took. Even so, his tone was defensive. "I'm not in charge of the Sheriff, his position is autonomous-"

"I don't care." There was a warning in Dean's tone, one that went beyond the annoyance of being woken out of his bed at 2 am. "You know what Sheriff Mann is like, you've been working with him for over ten years. You should have seen this coming. You should have prepped him before we got here. But you didn't, because you are so busy 'not telling' people what we do that you forgot to mention we were coming to anyone. Anyone at all. Like your daughter. Does your wife even know yet?"

Brian winced and Dean nodded. "Uh-huh. Thought so."

Sam's hand went to his stomach, as if he'd been kicked there.

"Sandy knows," Brian said. "She wants you to come to dinner tomorrow."

Sam let out a breath of relief. Dean's assessment was wrong, all wrong-

"Yeah?" his brother continued, and Sam's stomach dropped again. "If we were welcome guests, she would have made that invitation for tonight. But she couldn't, because you didn't tell her, did you?"

Brian gave Sam an apologetic look, then dropped his eyes.

"You hate that we're here," Dean continued mercilessly. "You hate that we hunt. But you don't have a choice because a hunt landed in your town. And you," Dean turned to his brother. Sam's eyes flew wide, a silent plea to his brother to stop. Dean's irate glare didn't waver.

"You're still doing the in-law dance. You want him to like you, you want to be accepted. But you know he hates hunting. How could he not? So you're trying to pretend we aren't hunters, while we work a case. Like that line of bull you fed the Sheriffl. Researchers?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Really? If you'd let me fight it out with the Sheriff in the morgue instead of trying to keep the peace, this wouldn't have happened." He flung his arms wide, taking in the broken furniture and scattered glass. "He knows something is off here. And he's right!"

"Look, normally, I would let the two of you do your little dance. Say the polite lines. Pretend life is all roses and we can all just pick up where we left off. But we've got a job to do here. You're distracted, both of you. So sort out your crap. I want the air clear by morning or else I'm calling in another team." Dean held up a hand to cut off any argument. "I'm going to get us a new room. Then, I'm going to bed."

Dean found his slippers, grabbed his duffle, and marched out the door.

Brian sucked in a deep breath, staring at the door. "He's right. I'm sorry to say it, Sam, but I don't know what to think anymore. I just didn't know where else to turn."

Sam absorbed the words as he would a physical blow. He would deal with the bruises later. "Do you want us to call another team?"

Brian paused, and finally looked Sam in the eye. "You were last on my list, Sam. I called everyone else I knew before I called you. But they were all dead." He frowned. "I wasn't sure if I really expected any kind of answer from you."

"We can call in some friends. Good hunters, good people, they can handle the monster and they'll make sure no one gets hurt in the process. We'll leave." Sam heard the words coming out of his mouth, the most logical response. But his guts were squirming and screaming No! He didn't trust another hunter to deal with this. He wanted to have dinner with Sandy.

He wanted Jess, warm and alive and laughing at him.

But that couldn't happen, and wishing it would only keep him distracted. "You won't have to see me again."

He'd been part of this family once, but no more. He should have known that. He did know that. But all the memories he'd been reliving felt like yesterday, made him forget how much time had passed, and what had happened in between.

Brian closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, Sam, that's not what this is-I've wanted to see you again. I just don't want hunting near my family."

"I am a hunter." Sam felt the hard edges of the words, and all that they meant. Once, he had hated them. Now, he knew they would always be true. He had accepted that, grown comfortable with it. But the words felt strange now, foreign as would have twelve years ago.

"I'm a hunter, and I can't change that. Dean and I are the best, and we can handle this monster problem. But he's not wrong. I've been distracted. Terrified by the idea that something could happen to your family again. We're not likely to find the monster before it kills again. That's just how these things go. We can't save everyone."

Truth. It was surprising how easily it came off his tongue. Normally, he would gloss over the grisly bits. But not today.

"You walked into town knowing that someone else would die?" Now he was beginning to see, to peer into the dark reality of the world they lived in.

Sam shrugged. What was there to say? Death was woven into his life as surely as food and water. He saw it weekly. "Yes. That's just the way it is. It's like chasing a serial killer."

Brian's face cleared. Here was something that fit his frame of reference. "The evidence is in the crime. You can't track them until they've killed enough times to set a pattern."

Sam nodded. "Yes. More people will die, and Dean and I can solve this faster than anyone. We'll call in someone else, but until they get here, it's best if we keep working the case."

Brian pressed his lips together, and nodded. "Alright."

"We'll get a motel out of town. Tell Sandy we left."

A smile tugged at the corner of Brian's mouth. "No, I wouldn't dare. She's already gone shopping, and there is no way I can eat through that mountain of food before it spoils. Please, come to dinner."

The invitation was genuine, warming the room. "I'd like that."

Brian's hand landed on his shoulder, and he nodded. "Me too."

 **NOTE: What do you think? What will Sheriff Mann do next? How will Sandy respond to seeing Sam? Can Sam clear his head before his distraction leads to a terrible mistake?**

 **Please Review! I love hearing from you. Reviews are my motivation to write, I don't mind begging. :) I love to hear from you, and the more freed-back I get, the more that fuels my writing! I try to respond to all reviews.**


	6. Hiding in the pauses

**NOTE: So sorry it has been so long between updates. Hope you enjoy the chapter! Please let me know what you think in the reviews!**

 **Chapter 6: Hiding in the pauses**

Sam had stopped dead on the sidewalk. He stared at the scrap of paper in his hand, the address of their next interview printed in Dean's sloppy scrawl, and then up at the building they had landed in front of. Sam's own face stared back at him from the giant poster in the window. Sam's eyes traveled from the window, to the numbers above the door, and back to the paper in his hand. His lips turned down in a childish pout.

"Aw, come on."

It was the same expression he'd worn on his first day of kindergarten. It didn't matter how big Sam got. It didn't matter how many monsters he killed. Somewhere in his hulking little brother there still lurked an uncertain five-year-old. Dean found the thought oddly comforting.

He would also be a terrible big brother if he missed out on the chance to tease.

"Maybe I should kick your ass while we're in there. Get my own poster."

Sam just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Hey, if you're worried you can't handle a mob of ten-year olds begging for autographs-"

"Oh, shut up." Sam gave Dean an obligatory shove, jut to let him know he'd been annoyed enough for today, thank you, and pushed through the dojo door. He stopped again, the stunned five-year-old look back in place.

"Dr. Yung."

A tiny Asian woman smiled up at them. Her assertive posture almost made you forget how small she was standing next to Sam's 6'4". Dean's eyes narrowed, searching memories. He'd seen that woman before, seen her calm and collected, face down a furious John Winchester and tell him No.

"Sam." She placed her tiny hand in Sam's giant palm. "Good to see you again. We've been expecting you." She waved across the dojo to a young Asian man in a karate pajamas, a brother or cousin based on the similarity in their height and features. He frowned and marched over, shaking his head all the way.

"We don't want to talk to them." He turned to Dean. "This is my business, not my sister's. Please leave."

Dean tapped his badge. His real, authentic, government-issued badge. He'd used it a lot today. He was missing his fake one. People were a lot more willing to talk to FBI. "We're here on official business."

"Yes, the Sheriff told me all about your business-"

He'd heard that line a lot today, too. "I don't work for the Sheriff, I work for the Mayor." It had been a different story with each witness, but the same result. The Sheriff had spooked them all, and even if they would talk, they weren't sharing the crazy details. The ones the Winchesters needed.

"The Sherriff said not to talk to you until he completes a full background check-"

Dean grimaced. Usually, when he put a man's face in the carpet, the man stayed out of his way after that. Apparently, Sheriff Mann had missed the message. Dean made a note to deal with the Sheriff. Later.

"Look, if we are dangerous criminals, do you really want to make us mad?"

The man rocked back on his heels. He might be a master in the dojo, but he was barefoot and unarmed. His eyes found the spot where Dean's gun hung, tucked away under his suit jacket.

Dean glanced at Sam. Usually, his brother knew his cue, but the moment ticked past in silence. Dean waited, pointedly.

"Oh." Sam finally turned on the puppy eyes. "Look, we just have a few questions."

"We would be happy to answer them. Wouldn't we, Ben?" Dr. Yung said.

Her brother scowled, but he knew the difference between a question and an order, and kept his mouth shut. Dr. Yung gestured to a line of folding chairs set against the wall. "Please, have a seat. But if I answer yours, you have to answer mine."

"Your questions?" Sam stammered. He hovered over his seat, refusing to sit down all the way. Just in case he needed to run.

Dr. Yung smiled. "Guests first. Please, what would you like to know?"

Before Sam could decide that this was not a fair exchange and try to run away, Dean leaned in. "We're investigating the deaths that have been happening around the lake. There were three so far. The Sheriff thinks they are animal attacks."

"And you don't."

"We want to be sure."

The doctor spread her hand wide. "Well, I'm not sure I can help. I didn't see anything."

"But it was your cousin who was killed. He was visiting for the weekend."

"Yes," the dojo master said. "And we went tubing. He fell off. He wouldn't come back to the boat. We lost sight of him, and we don't know where he got off to. Then he was found dead."

His sharp tone was a metal wall topped with barbed wire, a warning not to ask any more questions. Or it would make him feel guilty. Again. For not looking for the cousin when he had the chance. It was a familiar story.

"Johnny was a good swimmer," the doctor said. "He would go out for hours. He waved at the boat after he fell off the tube, and we thought he wanted us to move on. We were near a little island. He vanished around the shoreline, and that was the last we saw of him." She met Dean's eyes firmly. "It was no one's fault."

"Did it seem like anyone pulled him off the tube, or that he was struggling with anything in the water?" Sam asked.

Good, at least he'd remember the research. Dean was worried his brother had been staring at the laptop without really reading anything.

"A drowning person doesn't actually struggle that much, it's a myth."

"Yeah, I know." Dean had gotten the same lecture from another pair of lake-dwellers already today. "We're wondering if it may have been more than a drowning. If he was pulled under. Sheriff Mann says it's a wild cat. We say it could be something in the water, pulling people down and then tossing the leftovers out."

Dr. Yung shot a sharp glance at her brother, who crossed his arms and said nothing.

"Any little detail you remember would really help." Sam was smooth as ever, flowing with the familiar rhythm of the interrogation tag-team.

"I was on the tube next to him. He said he thought he saw a child in the water. But when I looked, there was no one there. Then," Ben hesitated. Sam gave an encouraging nod. "Then he said he felt like something was pulling on him. I thought it just meant he wanted to go for a swim."

"What do you mean when you say it was pulling on him."

"Something was tugging on his arm. But I thought it was just his scar. He got caught in some seaweed the day before, and it was all scratched up."

There is was. Dean pulled a picture out of his pocket. "Did the scratches look anything like this?"

Ben leaned forward. "Yeah, it did. But that looks like some kind of graffiti."

"It's ancient celtic art," Dean said. "Thank you for your time."

Dean didn't even get his butt off the chair before Dr. Yung held up her hand. "Wait. We answered your questions, Mr. Winchester. My turn."

Sam squirmed.

"I've been over and over that tape of your fight with Guster, and I've never seen such a mixed style of fighting. I couldn't even tell where a few of those moves came from. Where did you train?"

Sam's face cleared. Easy answers were always best. "John Winchester's backseat academy. My dad taught us everything he knew, and we traveled a lot. I couldn't really tell where I learned everything."

Ben's face lit up. "Can you teach me that flip? I can't figure it out. Everyone asks me to teach it, and I don't know how."

Dean grinned. "Well, Sammy's free tomorrow. I'm sure he could come back and show you a few things." It would be better than Sam sitting bored at the hotel while Dean when off with Claire and Jody to hunt this thing down. Sam was bound to go poking around, and get himself into trouble. A crowd of adoring fans would keep him out of a mess, at least for a little while.

"We'll see. We really have to go now. We have a dinner appointment."

000 Lakeport 000

Normally, the kitchen was Sandy's sanctuary. She ruled this space, filling it with steam and smells to make a mouth water. No one interrupted while she cooked. It was a solitary activity, no one was allowed past the threshold until all pots were off the stove and it was time to set the table. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone. A presence lurked out of the corner of her eye, making the back of her neck prickle. Sandy shivered against the chill.

It must be nerves. Her guests were over-due, and she was waiting for the doorbell to ring at any moment. Dinner was done; she was only stirring the pot to keep the sauce from clumping. Her eyes found the box she's placed in the corner earlier that day, ready for their guest. One last bit of clearing out. She thought she had finished with it years ago, but had been surprised how much remained of her daughter, tucked away in a corner, nearly forgotten.

But never entirely gone.

"What are you waiting for?" she whispered into the not-empty room. "Him?"

The door opened, and Brian called out, "We're here!"

Sandy turned off the burner and pulled her apron over her head, hanging it on the hook. She took a deep breath and came to the kitchen doorway to see what she would find. She'd tried to picture this moment all day, but simply could not replace the image of the lanky college kid who had last graced this house with her daughter twelve years ago.

Two huge men filled her living room, their heads nearly scraping the ceiling. Brian hadn't exaggerated; Sam had grown taller. The suit fit his frame well, leaving no trace of the college kid she had know. His eyes were solemn, hiding a story full of secrets. But he smiled as soon as he caught sight of her, and she walked into his arms for the hug that was her due.

"Oh, Sam. It's good to see you."

His arms enveloped her, then he pulled back with a smile. "It's good to see you, too."

 _There._ It was hidden in the smile, the memory of the boy her daughter had loved. She turned to the brother, who was watching them carefully out of the corner of his eye. "Dean, right? I'm so glad you could come."

"Yes, ma'am." He shook her hand firmly and smiled. "I wouldn't miss a chance for home-made meal. Sammy's told me a lot about your cooking."

 _I don't remember him being a charmer_. He had broken into her home on their first meeting, fierce and protective of his brother. At their second, he had been silent and serious, pacing the hospital corridor. But today, he was smooth as crystal, and Sandy felt her hand tingling at his touch. A man of many faces.

She ought to remember that, before he charmed her right out of the good silver.

"I hope so, he certainly ate enough when he was here before." She placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and gestured to the dinning room table. "Come on, it's all ready."

 _How often do they eat?_ They had to get frequent feeding to maintain their size, but the ferocity with which they attacked the meal set before them made it look like they hadn't eaten for days. They both cleared their plates and asked for seconds within ten minutes.

Sandy threw a smug look at her husband as she ladled out more helpings. "And you thought we had too much food."

Brian licked sauce off of his lips and pushed his plate back. "No matter how good your cooking, dear, my stomach is only so big."

"No worries, Dean once ate an entire ham in a day."

"Yeah, because we didn't have a fridge. We have a fridge here. We can take leftovers."

"I've got a frozen lasagna Brian didn't like and a pot of stew that is collecting freezer burn."

"We'll take it," Dean said before the last words had left her mouth.

"Lovely." Sandy fiddled with the meat on her plate, her first helping still only half-eaten. Food had distracted them all from conversation. But she hadn't asked Sam here just to fill his stomach. "So, Sam. How have you been?"

Both brothers paused for half a moment. They had to know the question was coming. It was the first thing you asked anyone. Yet Sam looked as if he had no idea what to say.

"Fine." The word was slow, thoughtful. His moth curved into a soft smile, as if realized the answer were true. "I'm fine."

I am fine. Not, I've been fine. Not, things are going great. The statement covered this moment, and this moment only. How long had it taken, to get to 'fine', and what had happened in between?

"What have you been doing? Did you ever make it back to school?

Sam took in a deep breath and let it out. Dean studied his plate.

"Um, no. I didn't. I went into the family business, no college required."

"This is excellent beef, Mrs. Moore." Dean didn't seem to care that he was talking with his mouth full. He probably hoped it would be more distracting that way. Better to divert her from the next logical question: And what is the family business?

"It's not beef." Brian jumped on the topic change like a drowning man lunging for a lifeline. He never paid much attention to what happened in the kitchen. Brian frowned at his plate. "At least, I think it isn't."

"It's lamb, dear."

Dean paled. "Baby sheep?"

"No, grown-up sheep. They just call it lamb when you cook it." Sandy dipped a bit of bread in her sauce, letting the conversation pause, then spoke into the silence. "So, Sam. The family business. I thought you were trying to get away from that. Chasing cases the police can't solve sounds far more thrilling than working in a law office, but I know you were dead set against it. What made you change your mind?"

Dean's mouth silently repeated her words. Chasing cases the police can't solve. He paused, thinking, then nodded. It was a good line, one he could use later.

Clearly, not the truth. Or, sort of truth. If she judged his expression right. Truth put in a way he had never thought to express it before.

So, where was the rest of the story?

Sandy looked expectantly at Sam. He shrugged and picked at his plate. "After I lost-After the fire, I needed to clear my head. I needed to be with my family again." He glanced at Dean. "And that meant working with my brother. I got back into the swing of things and…I'm still here, I guess."

It was such a small pause, she barely felt it. She was used to Sam's pauses, especially when it came to talking about his family. Sandy had never thought much of them, until today. Until she'd found out that her husband lied to her. Some part of her brain always knew that those small pauses held a story.

She had been content to let his past be a mystery. But now, she desperately wanted to know how the scrawny college kid had turned into this broad-shouldered man. Yet all she got was…a pause.

It had been twelve years. They didn't really know each other. But in order to catch up, in order to know each other again, those pauses needed to be filled.

Instead, Sam reached for the spoon to fill his plate. Brian pressed his lips together, and once again steered the conversation away from talk of Sam and Dean's 'job'. They were all hiding in the pauses, every single one of them.

When the plates were licked clean and they boys deposited their dishes in the kitchen sink, Sandy caught Sam's elbow before he could escape to the living room again.

"Sam. Wait a moment, would you?"

Sam's eyebrows drew together, but he nodded, and waved Dean to go on without him. Sandy stepped sideways and gestured to the cardboard box tucked away in the corner. "There was another reason I wanted to see you tonight. I also wanted you to have this."

She picked up the box, feeling the weight of it for the last time. Everything that was left of Jessica, tucked away in a bit of cardboard. _I hope I'm doing the right thing_. More than anything, she wanted to keep hold of this box, to keep its contents near her. To keep Jessica near her.

But this scattered existence, glimpses out of the corner of her eye, a whisper in the shadows, a flicker in the lights, it wasn't good. It wasn't right. Sandy didn't know how it had happened, but she knew it needed to end. She'd done her best to tell her daughter to move on. To show her that it was ok to go. But still Jessica lingered, a prickle on the back of her neck.

She was waiting for someone else, and Sandy didn't know who else it could be. She held the box out to Sam. "It's just a few of her things, the most important ones. We kept them as momentos, but I never got the chance to offer any of them to you. Please, sort through them. Keep them safe. When you're ready, let them go."

Sam took the box, staring at the bunch of dried flowers sitting on top, a diamond ring dangling from the bow wrapped around the stems. He touched the cold stone with his fingers.

"These are the flowers I left."

Sandy placed her hand on top of his. "I know. I helped Jessica pick out that ring. Then she had to call your friend Bobby, and get him to get you to buy it." She chuckled at the memory. "Oh, the things we do for the sake of tradition."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What? No. I picked this ring."

Sandy patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, dear. I had to do the same thing with Brian. You take good care of my daughter, Sam."

He dropped his eyes. "I should have done better."

Sandy frowned. "That accident wasn't your fault."

Another pause. Sam's face turned into a hard mask, and the pause lingered as words formed on his tongue. Truth at last?

"Yes, it was. Because it wasn't an accident. Someone killed Jessica because they wanted to get to me. Because of what my family does." Sam's eyes were bright with moisture. "But I found the one that did it, and he's dead now. I want you to know that. It is my fault she died. I can't make that right, no matter what happens. But I made sure it won't happen to anyone else."

A chill swept across the room and the lights flickered, then died, plunging the room into shadow. Starlight filtered through the window, highlighting the glint in Sam's eyes. Sharp and fierce. Sandy clutched her stomach, a sour taste rising in her mouth.

"My daughter was murdered?"

"What's wrong with the lights?"

"Brian will fix it. Sam. My daughter was murdered?" Her world as titling sideways, spilling out at the edges. The safety she had known suddenly shaken. She knew there was evil in the world, but she never thought it would touch her. Could touch her. Had touched her life, taking her daughter from her, and she had never even known.

Sam closed his eyes. "I shouldn't have told you."

Sandy looked up at the darkened light fixture. "No. That's alright, Sam. I think it needed to be said. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"No." He cut into the pause, determined. "No, there isn't. It's over, it's done."

 _Not quite_. Her breath was gone. The words never reached her lips.

Sam nodded to the box. "Thank you, for these." He turned and ducked through the archway. Sandy watched him go out the window, tucking the box in the trunk.

Murdered. The word coiled around her, full of darkness. Who would kill her daughter? Why? Sam knew.

Light flooded the room, stinging her eyes. But the fluorescent glow could do nothing to illuminate the dark puzzle that only seemed to grow with each piece she found.

It was time to find a way to fill the pauses.

 **NOTE: What will Sam find in Jessica's box? What will Sandy find out when she goes digging? How will Dean handle Sheriff Mann? More coming soon!**


	7. Missing You

**NOTE: Thanks to everyone to has reviewed this story, and thanks to everyone who is still reading! I hope you enjoy it. I have had a harder time writing this story for some reason, but I think the next few chapters will be exciting...**

 **Chapter 7: Missing You**

Dean knew as soon as the lights winked out. He knew it could happen for perfectly normal reasons: an electrical storm, a bad circuit in the wall, a car running into a pole. Dad had once spent a week hunting for a spirit near a hotel where the lights had flickered, only to find out that a groundhog had been chewing on the wires. It could happen.

Then the temperature dropped, and there was no doubt. The Moore home was haunted.

"Again?" Brian heaved a sigh and flicked on a flashlight. "So sorry about this."

"Happen often?" Dean didn't really need to ask. The man carried a flashlight in his pocket.

"The lights and the heating systems have been scrambled for a few years now. We've had four different electricians out, but no one can find the problem."

"A few years you say?" Dean flipped seamlessly into his hunter role. He even felt his spine straighten in imitation of an FBI agent. "Do you know exactly when it started?"

"I couldn't put my finger on a date." Brian frowned, his face shadowed in the odd angle of the flashlight. "Why do you ask?"

"Bet it hasn't been more than twelve years. Did Pastor Jim get a chance to tell you about ghost signs?"

Brian's brows furrowed. "No. Just demons."

Light flooded the room again, and Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway, a large cardboard box in his hands. His face was pale. "I think it's time we left."

Behind Sam, Dean could see Sandy clutching at the kitchen counter for support. What had happened in there? Without a word, Sam moved past him and out the door.

"What do you mean, ghosts?" Brian asked.

Dean cast his glance between his brother and the Mayor. There was no question where is priorities were on this one. "We need to talk. Later. Thanks for dinner." Dean turned to chase after his brother. "Sammy!"

Sam didn't say a word, just tucked a cardboard box into the back seat and turned to give Dean a look that said this conversation was OFF LIMITS. That had never really stopped Dean, ever.

"What's in the box?"

"Sandy gave me a few of Jessica's things she had saved."

"Things? Like the kinds of things that a spirit would attach itself to?"

"Spirit?" Sam stared at him, as he had no idea what Dean was saying.

"The lights, the cold spike. Seriously, Sam. You didn't notice?" Sam's wide eyes clearly said he hadn't. "You get that you are probably bringing a spirit home with you."

Sam looked down at the box tucked in the back seat. "Do you think?"

"I'm pretty sure, Sam."

"Hm." After another moment, Sam opened his door and settled into the passenger seat. He stared out at the road, waiting for Dean to take them away.

Silent and pensive Sam was never good. Ghosts of loved ones never ended well. It didn't matter how much time had passed. In some ways, Sam had never really gotten over Jess.

Dean just hoped he could survive her ghost.

000 Lakeport 000

Yesterday, Dean had discovered the joys of Holiday Inn's hot breakfast buffet. Eggs, oatmeal, bacon, and unlimited waffles. Nobody cared how many he ate. If he used up the bowl of batter, the attendant went to fetch more. Once, the manager came out to give him the evil eye, but Dean just smiled and poured more batter into the waffle iron. He'd made a stack five waffles tall, eaten the entire thing, and then made another. Dean planned to repeat the entire blissful experience every morning until they left.

But now, his fork hung from his fingers, halfway to his lips but unwilling to move any further. The layers of whipped cream and syrup made his stomach rebel. The last bite hadn't even tasted good. Something was wrong; Dean was full.

It didn't happen often. Living on cheap diner food and protein bars, Dean rarely ate enough to feel truly, completely satisfied. Yesterday, he had done it twice in one day. Once at breakfast, then again at dinner. His stomach was stretched to the limit, and hadn't had time to empty again. There wasn't room for anything more.

With a sigh, Dean put the fork down. On a normal day, they wouldn't still be here, lingering over breakfast. They would have been up at dawn and already out at the lake looking for kelpie signs. But Sam was benched, had asked Dean to call for reinforcements all on his own, instead of making Dean make the call. So they waited in the hotel breakfast nook for Dean's new hunting partner to arrive. Her plane should have arrive an hour ago, but between getting her luggage, getting her rental car, and navigating the roads, Dean hadn't expected her to get here before 9 am. He tapped his fork against his plate, the energy from all the good food was making him jittery. He was ready to go. To hunt. To get away from the gloomy emotional cloud Sam had projected over everything since Sandy gave him that haunted box.

Sam glanced up from his own meager bowl of oatmeal and half a grapefruit. "You ok?"

Dean grimaced and pushed his plate away. "I think I've had enough." The problem was all of this good food. His stomach didn't know what to do with it.

Sam smirked. "I told you you'd get tired of it."

"Tired of what?" A familiar female voice chimed in. "Ohhh! Waffles." A duffle bag landed on the floor and Claire landed in the empty space at their table. She picked up a clean fork and dug in.

"Hey! That's mine!" Dean said. It didn't matter if he didn't wanted it, there were principals at stake here.

"I thought you didn't want it." Sam licked his oatmeal bowl clean.

"You snooze, you loose." The stack of waffles vanished rapidly. "I had to sleep on a plane. The least you can do is buy me breakfast."

"Thanks for coming out."

Claire shrugged. "Classes don't start for another week, and I convinced Jody it would be better for me to hunt with someone who knows what they're doing than go off on my own. So, what's this case the awesome Winchesters can't solve on their own?"

"You're not here because we can't solve this. You're here for training, and because Sammy has a case of his own."

Sam's eyebrows raised at this comment. _Yes, Sammy. That little 'memory box' you brought home last night is a hunt. Don't forget it_.

"Two cases in one town?"

"One haunting, one monster, no connection. Sam's on the ghost, for now. You're coming with me to the lake to track down a kelpie. If you're finished eating my breakfast?"

Claire dragged her fork through the syrup coating the now-empty plate and licked it clean. "Yeah, just about."

Dean rolled his eyes, and went to the Impala to fetch a few tools. When he got back to the hotel lobby, Claire was still waiting in the breakfast nook, but Sam was gone. Dean found his brother in their room, sitting on the floor, staring at the cardboard box. He dropped the bag of rock salt and can of gasoline on the floor with a thump. Sam started, and looked up.

"Dean, we don't need that."

"Sammy, we aren't taking any chances on this one. You've got today, that's it. If that stuff is still here when I get back, I'm taking care of it myself. Understood?"

Sam's glared was mutinous, but Dean didn't care. He'd learned how to give orders from the master. "I'll see you later. Be careful."

"Yeah. You too."

Dean nodded, and closed the door.

There had been a time when it felt like Dean knew Sam's every move. He was always watching his little brother, even if just out of the corner of his eye. He knew when Sammy wanted food, he knew when Sammy was bored with his toys. He knew when he needed to ask Dad for a bathroom break. But those backseat days were long gone. Dean had learned the hard way that he didn't know everything about his brother. Couldn't see what was happening inside that head. Couldn't predict his mood.

Then had come the day when Sam told him to stop trying. Stood up, looked Dean in the eye, and declared his adult-hood and equal partnership in everything involving the brothers Winchester. Said that Dean didn't need to watch out for him anymore. Not like he had.

It had taken a few years for Dean to accept that his baby brother spoke the truth. Sam could handle himself, and he'd proved it on more than one occasion. Dean didn't have to keep him in the corner of his eye all the time. He could turn his back, close his eyes, and Sam would be fine.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, he still needed Big Brother Dean to know what was happening at all times. To rush in at the last moment to save him. To pick him up off the floor and make sure he was ok.

Dean wasn't sure which way this was going to fall. Maybe, Sam could handle it. Maybe, Sam would sort through that box, spend half a day walking down memory lane, and then pull out the salt and gasoline. Maybe. But if he couldn't, Dean would be there to do what was necessary.

000 Lakeport 000

Saturday morning always moved at a slower pace than the rest of the week. It was a quiet space, free from the traffic of the work-week. Silence was part of Saturday, a part that Brian savored. But today, the house felt empty. It was like the tingling feeling after pulling off a bandage that has been in place for too long. Something was missing.

Brian shuffled through the hollow hallways, searching, he didn't know what for. His car keys were on their hook by the door. His reading glasses tucked away by the computer. All pairs of socks were accounted for, and the coffee pot was finishing its brew right on time. Sandy was humming in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a fine breakfast. Everything was in its proper place.

But something was missing.

 _"Did Pastor Jim get a chance to tell you about ghost signs?"_

Brian shivered, though there was no cold. The lights gave off a steady glow, and the air conditioner was working properly for once.

Ghosts. It was strange, that the thought had never crossed his mind before. He had been focused on demons. Monsters. Twisted souls and flesh with a thirst for blood. Evil things that went bump in the night. He had never thought to look beyond that, to wonder what else might be real.

Spirits of the dead, lingering near people and places they had loved. Could it be?

Brian found himself at a familiar doorway. They called it the playroom now. It was for grandchildren and their toys, a place for fun and laughter. But it had been empty for years before the grandchildren came. And before that, it had been her room.

"Jessica." Brian whispered the name, and stared at the room. Toys were stacked neatly in their corners, a painted elephant danced across the wall. Curtains full of cartoon characters shivered in the breeze. All was tidy. Everything in its place. Except the empty shelf. Brian paused, staring at the space. Sandy had said something about giving Sam a few things, but she had taken everything. Not even her picture remained.

Empty.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

Sandy stood at his shoulder, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand.

"Fine. I just-did you give Sam all of Jessica's things? I thought-shouldn't we keep something?"

Sandy pursed her lips and gazed into the empty room. Her voice was soft. "I thought it was time we all moved on. She's gone now."

"I know she's gone-but the memories-" Objects had a way of holding memories. If keeping stories alive. Keeping the dead close. "I would like to keep something."

Sandy sighed, and slid under his shoulder, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Give Sam a few days, let him have some time with her. Ask him before he leaves town, but not today. Alright?"

 _Ding-dong_. The doorbell chimed. It was more a warning than a request, because a second later the front door burst open and three children spilled into the house, shedding their shoes and running for grandparents with squeals of glee.

"Grandma! Grandpa!"

Sandy ducked out of Brian's embrace and hopped down the stairs to the living room, flinging her arms wide to catch all three children in one giant hug. Brian carefully set his coffee mug aside before following suit. The Saturday quiet was over. The time of chaos had begun.

It was odd how chaos could be a familiar routine. The three children and Jenna settled at the table for Grandma's best breakfast. Then Jessica herded her brother and sister to the play room, where the tidy collection of toys was summarily dumped across the floor.

Normally, Brian would be in the middle of it. Draped in a blanket, pretending to be a bat or dragon, or else on all fours, a bear intent on tickling unruly children. But today he sat at the computer desk, staring at WikiHow.

How to tell if your house is haunted.

How to speak to the dead.

How to find ghosts.

Everyone had a different theory. But they all agreed on a few points. Spirits of the dead were made up of energy, and that energy disrupted electrical circuits.

" _Bet it hasn't been more than twelve years_." Dean's words spilled through his thoughts. Twelve years.

"Whew!" Sandy and Jenna both tromped down the stairs and collapsed on the couch. Brian hastily exited his internet browser.

"Oh, I'm too old for this," Jenna moaned. "Where do they get it from? Did you have to feed them sugar for breakfast, Mom?"

"It has nothing to do with the sugar, dear." Sandy lay spread-eagle across the cushions, face flushed, but grinning from ear to ear. "Children just do that."

"When do they stop?" Jenna asked.

"Ha!" Sandy laughed and looked fondly at her daughter. "Never."

"Mom." Jenna was suddenly serious. "Where are Jessica's things?"

"I decided it was time to let them go."

"What?" Jenna sat up, frowning. "Mom, you got rid of it? Without asking me? I wanted some of those things. Where are they?"

Sandy blinked, taken aback. "Well-I gave them to Sam. I thought he might like to have them."

"Well, get them back!" Jenna snapped.

"I can't do that. They're his now. Give him a few days. What did you want?"

"That Smurfette I gave her when I was five."

"I'll ask Sam."

Jenna sat back, looking highly unsatisfied. "Fine. Don't forget. Oh, and Tyler has been asking for his teddy bear. We left it up at the lake house. When can we go get it?"

"Not yet," Brian snapped.

"Dad!" Now Jenna was glaring at Brian. "Seriously, we're not in danger from anything if I just run from the car to the house and back."

"No one goes to the lake." _I can't lose another child_.

Jenna looked form her mother to her father. "Ok, seriously, guys. What is going on here?"

Brian and Sandy both sat with their mouths open for a moment, but neither said a word. Jenna continued to glare. "Well?"

The stairs rattled over head, and Jessica barreled into the living room and buried her face in her mother's lap. Jenna frowned and ran her fingers through her daughter's hair. "What's wrong, Jessie?"

"I wanted to sing. But she isn't there?"

"Who?"

"The lady, the one who sings to us."

The imaginary friend Jessica had created to play with her, before her younger siblings had come along. She now had playmates but she still talked about the lady who would sing and play with her. The imaginary friend who _only_ showed up in the playroom.

Jenna began to hum the tune, one that Sandy had sung to her daughters when they were small. Jessica snuggled closer and hummed along.

They had all been wondering how much longer she would cling to that imaginary friend. Maybe, this was the start of her letting go.

Maybe, the friend had never been imaginary at all.

Brian's eyes slowly drifted upward, to the room right above the spot where he sat. The space it was most often so cold. Until today.

Demons. Monsters. Ghosts.

He shivered, although it wasn't cold.

 _How long has my daughter been haunting my home?_ But, more troubling still, was the question that followed.

Where had she gone?

000 Lakeport 000

Alone. The door closed behind his brother and finally Sam was in a space all by himself. No one else around. No prying eyes to watch his movements, no one to ask awkward questions. It was just him, and the box of things that represented all that was left of the girl Sam had loved.

He had wanted to get into the box immediately. The moment Sandy placed it in his hands, he wanted to bury himself in the contents. In the memories. But this was not a moment to be shared with others, with Jessica's mother or his own brother. This was a moment for just the two of them, such as they had not had for twelve years.

He'd tucked the box in a corner of the room, and knew that Dean had slept with his salt rifle near to hand. But nothing had disturbed them all night. Sam hadn't really expected to sleep, hadn't expected the oblivion of sleep to soothe him until morning and to wake refreshed and ready for the day. He had not slept so well for years; deep, and free of fear. While hunting, he always tossed and turned, some part of him always ready to spring into action. It was one of the reasons he had tried to leave the life; for the sake of a good night's sleep.

Last night he had rested dreamlessly, with the sense of a warm presence tucked in near his side.

Jessica. There was no doubt her spirit was inhabiting this room now. But so was Dean's, glaring watchfully from the corner where he had left the gas and salt.

Sam turned to the window and set the box in the sun. It seemed fitting. These memories were full of light, some of the happiest of his life. They were good, full of hope.

Reaching into the box felt like reaching into a different skin. He remembered Stanford, his friends there, his time with Jessica. But it was like watching a movie, images he experienced from the outside. He wasn't that person anymore.

He poured the contents of the box onto the ground. Dried flowers and an engagement ring. A blue Smurfette dressed in white, a stuffed bear, and a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket. A flute, and a photograph. It was a small collection, but each item was full of meaning. Which would Jess cling to?

"Sam."

The voice was so familiar. It thrummed through him. Memory?

Sam looked up and there was, wearing a white dress, sunlight spilling around her. She smiled, and reached toward him. He reached back and brushed her fingers. Her hand moved through his, sending an icy jolt up his arm.

"Jess. I'm so sorry." Because this was his fault. Her death. Her presence here. It was all his fault. "I want to help you move on. Please-"

She frowned, and reached toward him again. Again, her arm moved through his. "Sam." Her voice was frustrated this time, and distant, crackling like a radio out of tune. The lights flickered, and then she was gone.

Sam sat back with a sigh. He looked over at the salt and gas sitting in the corner, but shook his head. He didn't want Jess to burn again. He knew it could be done. He'd talked ghosts through before, helped them move on without having to burn the remains. She'd been taken from him by fire already. There had to be a better way.

But why was she still here? What was she waiting for?

 _Ring! Ring!_ Sam's phone vibrated with an incoming call. It hadn't even been an hour, but there was big brother, checking in. He would keep his word. If Sam couldn't figure this out before Dean got back, everything in the box would be burned.

000 Lakeport 000

Dean didn't need a watch. He knew by the grumbling in his stomach. It didn't matter how much good food he'd had, he still wanted his next meal. In this case, lunch.

"It's nearly noon. Can we take a break yet?"

If Dean was tired and hungry, Claire was more so. They were both covered in mud from the knees down, and Dean could feel several bug bites turning into scratchy red patches across his skin. He was used to it; it came with the job. Claire was used to college classes, research in comfy libraries, and ride-alongs with the Sheriff.

"Ready to give up already?" Dean teased.

"I want my lunch."

Dean's stomach grumbled in agreement. "Yeah, alright." He'd started them circling back toward the car half an hour ago anyway. They had been up and down every trail by the lake, but found no signs of the kelpie's lair. Of course, it might not come onto land at all. Dean didn't know how they could search the water.

They reached the Impala, parked at the end of a boat launch. He settled into the familiar embrace of the driver's seat, the dent in the cushion perfectly shaped to cradle his butt. Ahhh, it was good to be home. No matter where he went or what he was doing, the Impala was his sanctuary. He knew every inch of her, knew the way the seat felt against his back, knew the smell when he breathed deep. Leather and gunpowder, and perfume- Dean took another deep breath. Perfume?

Dean frowned and turned to glare at the back seat.

"Come on, lunch!" Claire banged the dash imperiously and gestured to the road in front of them.

"Something's wrong." Dean ran his hands across the back seat upholstery, and lifted up a strand of blonde hair. "Someone's been in my car."

Claire blinked. "How can you tell?"

"It's my car." Dean moved around to the trunk and lifted the lid. Everything was there, but not in its place. The toolbox was always tucked in the back corner, but now it sat slightly askew. The top of the brown paper bag which held his favorite reading material was loose, instead of folded tightly shut.

It was also smaller than before.

Dean snatched at the bag and pulled it open. _Busty Asian Beauties_ stared back at him, all of his favorite classics.

"You think someone stole your porn collection?" Claire's voice held no sympathy, and not a small amount of Jody-style disapproval.

Dean pulled back the cover to reveal notebook pages full of handwriting hidden under the colorful spread. "No. Someone stole my journal."

 **NOTE: What does Jessica's spirit want? Who has been in the Impala? More to come soon! Please review?**


	8. Beneath the Surface

**Thanks to everyone who posted a review for the last chapter. I hope you will enjoy the next installment.**

 **Chapter 8: Beneath the Surface**

Sandy had never been the type to pry. She didn't even know if her children kept journals, or diaries, or whatever you wanted to call them. Hers was a family that talked to each other. When they had a problem, they spoke it out loud. When they needed help, they asked. Everyone was entitled to a bit of privacy. When they turned 13, Sandy refused to even enter her daughter's rooms to clean or deliver laundry. First, they were old enough to do that for themselves, and second, it as their space. Space they needed to grow up in, to become who they wanted to be outside of their parents.

She couldn't have been prouder of the result.

Dean, it seemed, had not been given much private space as a child. He was nearly forty, and he was still hiding his diary like a teenager worried about a nosy parent. Or in this case, brotherly curiosity. And in this magazine, _Busty Asian Beauties_ , of all places. It was a wonder she had found it at all. She'd glanced in the bag and seen the cover and been ready to put it back, but her hands had been shaking so much she'd spilled the whole thing. Then one of the magazine's flopped open, to reveal handwritten notebook pages stuffed under the cover. She'd struck jackpot entirely by accident.

It was her first robbery attempt, after all.

Picking the lock had been the easy part. Sam had shown her that, during that summer when he stayed. Sandy had locked her keys in her car and been waiting over an hour for the locksmith to arrive. Sam had come along and neatly popped the door open in five minutes. She'd demanded to know how, and practiced the skill once a month. Just in case.

She'd never had to wait for the locksmith again.

She also never thought she would use the skill to break into someone else's car. But the Impala's door had popped open just as easily. She hadn't meant to steal the diary. She hadn't really meant to steal anything at all. She just wanted a look, to see the place where Sam spent most of his time.

Where Sam lived. Dinner last night had consisted mostly of stories that happened in a car. Playing road games. Listening to music. Eating fast food. All in this car. She had known Sam grew up on the road, and she wanted to sit inside that car for just a moment, to feel connected to this story, somehow.

When she found the collection of diaries in the trunk, she had paused to consider. It was a crime. It was an invasion of personal privacy. But Dean had charged into her home and threatened both her and her daughter. It seemed a fair exchange. So here she was reading a magazine that wasn't a magazine. While her husband was out, called in to work unexpectedly this fine Saturday.

Sandy had known she couldn't take the entire stack. So she had selected two. One dated for the years Sam was at Stanford. The other the most recent. It was a good place to start filling in the gaps. She wanted answers. But what she found in these handwritten pages was…

Surprising?

Horrifying?

Insane?

Except that she didn't feel any of those things. She just found herself nodding, and laughing, like she did when putting a puzzle together and the mixed-up pieces slowly fell into place. Because it all made sense. Every piece fit neatly together, creating a bizarre picture that filled in all the gaps.

After all, she had been talking to her daughter's ghost for the better part of ten years. Why shouldn't other folk-tales be true too? The tidy handwriting told in plain, simple terms how to track and kill more supernatural creatures than Sandy had ever heard of. The stories came complete with sketches and newspaper clippings. It was like looking into a different world. So; this is where Sam had grown up. She had thought it was mobsters or organized crime of some kind. Somehow, monsters didn't seem any more scary.

But it was the other bits that Sandy was most interested in. The small notes tucked here and there in the margins. They were always short. Sometimes just a word. Angry. Scared. Not sleeping. Vision. They painted a picture of worry and care, and she knew they were all about Sam. The little scraps in the margins were all Dean had recorded of their lives. Sandy settled in and hoped that Brian's work would take a while. She needed some extra time to read between the lines.

000 Lakeport 000

"Okay, thanks." Dean killed the call and turned to Claire. She was sitting in the passenger seat, stuffing her face with fries, a look of pure bliss on her face.

"Jody doesn't let us eat like this often. Hmmm! This is great."

"Well, pack it up because break time's over. The Mayor got the results from the lab, and we have a location."

"Oh, yeah?" Claire said around a mouthful of fries.

"Yep." Dean couldn't complain about her eating habits, he'd already polished off his own meal. "You taking any science classes at college?"

"Yeah," Claire said, in that teenage tone that wondered why adults always ask stupid questions. "I kind of figured that was important, what with how often Jody has to go to the forensics department for help with a case."

"Well, hunters do, too. We pulled some underwater vegetation from the corpses, and the Mayor just got the results. Apparently it grows in one particular corner of the lake. So that's where we're headed next." As much as Dean had resisted Claire, or any young person for that matter, becoming a hunter, he was having fun with this. Training mode was something familiar. He had worn it like a second skin for nearly a decade, teaching Sam everything Dad taught him. Dealing with a teenager who liked to roll her eyes and make sarcastic commentary was just part of the process. It was something he could handle, something he could help with, showing a new hunter the ropes.

Much easier than trying to figure out what was going on inside Sam's head. Or wondering whether it had been a good idea to leave his brother alone with his dead girlfriend's ghost.

Dean opened the car door. He'd settle the mystery of who had been inside later. Right now, he had work to do. The familiarity of the routine, research, hunting, teaching, settled over him like a security blanket. Kept his mind away from thoughts that would only cause trouble.

"Shouldn't we have scuba gear or something? I mean, these things live in the water. How are we going to find it on land?"

"It goes on land to lure travelers into the water."

Claire rolled her eyes. " Yeah, but this thing can shape-shift. It can look like anything it wants to."

"Oh, you did your research. Good, so, what usually gives it away?"

Claire frowned. "Seaweed. In its hair. So we look for people wearing seaweed?"

"Or other signs." Dean frowned as the water came into view, and with it a strange sight.

"Like what?"

"Like that." Dean pointed to a boat on the water. Its bow was pointed toward shore, but it wasn't moving. Smoke spewed from the engine, which roared with life. The driver, a middle-aged woman in a modest swim-suit, pushed at the dash with all her might. She was leaning her entire weight into the accelerator.

But the boat didn't move.

"Punch it, get us out of here !"

"I'm trying!" The woman's voice was shrill will fear. Behind her, at the back end of the boat, a man with beefy arms, a military haircut, and a semper-fi tattoo had the life-preserver and its rope wrapped around his chest. He hung over the edge, the rope stretched taught, his arms bulging with effort. His arms were wrapped around a teenage boy trying to keep his head above water. Like he was being pulled under. The water bubbled and swirled around them, and Dean could see a shadowy shape underneath.

Dean didn't hesitate, didn't think. He could feel the adrenaline hit his system before he even decided to move. He ran as fast as he could, trusting that Claire would follow. He raised his gun, loaded with iron rounds, and shot a salvo into the water as soon as he was in range. Beside him, he could hear another gun firing. Claire's shots were going a little wide, but at least she was keeping them well away from the boat.

The man and boy in the boat fell backwards and landed in a heap. The boat shot forward, and plowed into the beach. The woman slammed on the brakes just as Dean swept an arm around Claire and dragged her to one side.

"Jim! Dustin!" The woman scrambled to the men in the back. The older man had red rope burns all over his chest, and the younger was clutching his ankle. "Are you alright?"

The teenager, Dustin, had a pained look on his face, but he said reassuringly, "I'm ok, Mom. I'm ok."

Jim's attention was on the water, his muscles still coiled for action. "What is that?"

A reptilian head bobbed above the surface. Shaped like a horse but covered in scales, its eyes were yellow. It thrashed in pain, let out a wail, then dived below the surface.

"Oh, probably just some kind of-big snake?" Claire said. Dean made a note to go over cover story pointers with her later.

Not that he really had a better explanation.

"No." The tone was sharp, brooking no nonsense. Jim turned, jumped out of the boat, and marched up to Dean. "You. You were here last time. When that thing tried to eat me." Jim placed a hand on his neck, and the remnants of a bite scar there. A vetala bite. He pointed at the water again. "What was that? What did it want with my son? It pulled him underwater without touching him."

"It's a kelpie. It uses magic to pull its victims underwater so it can eat them."

"Magic?"

"Yeah, magic." Dean leaned over the edge of the boat, knowing what he would fine. He pointed to the celtic knot scratched into the boy's leg. It was red and oozing blood. "It used that symbol to seal the spell."

"Magic," Jim said again, the suspicion evident in his tone. "And you shot at it with a gun?"

"Iron rounds."

"Hm." Jim looked at the water, then back at Dean. "What can I do to help?"

"Marine?" Dean didn't like involving civilians in hunts. A man who knew how to fight, and shoot-that was different.

"Fifteen years retired, but you never forget."

Dean nodded. "Right. Give me your number, I'll call you if we need you. For now, keep everyone you can out of the water. That starts with your family." Dean nodded to the mother and son in the boat.

"Well, Mr. Winchester. Fancy meeting you here." A familiar voice sounded behind Dean. "I trust you have registration for that firearm?"

Dean closed his eyes to count to ten before turning to face Sheriff Mann. The Sheriff stood with his arms crossed, a 'gotcha' expression on his face.

Dean handed his gun to Claire. "Why don't you go back to the hotel and see how Sammy's making out with his girlfriend? If she's making trouble, call me."

"His girlfriend?"

"Yeah. Ex-girlfriend. Make sure you load up with rock salt on the way."

Claire's mouth formed a small 'o' that clearly said, 'poor Sam.' "That's the other hunt?"

"Yeah. Go check on him, will you? I have some business to sort out with the Sheriff."

Mann held out his arm to stop Claire moving past him. "I'll need to see the registration for those. And your ID, miss."

"Sheriff, Sheriff." Dean put on his most friendly smile. "I think we got off on the wrong foot. Why don't you let me buy you a beer. We need to talk."

Sheriff Mann drew his shoulders back. "I can't be bought off, Mr. Winchester."

"Come on, Mann, a beer isn't a bribe. It's a peace offering. I just want to talk. Explain a few things. I think you want to stop more people from dying, and so do I. But you investigating me and me dodging you isn't helping anyone. So let's have a beer."

Mann dropped his arm, allowing Claire to move past him.

"He saved my son's life," Jim put in. "The least you can do is hear the man out."

Mann's eyes narrowed, considering. "Alright. One beer, Winchester. But this better be good."

000 Lakeport 000

Sam lay spread-eagle, cradled by the water, hands and feet turning small circles to keep him afloat. He squinted against the sun, checking the hotel room window. She was still there, staring down at him. He'd spent three hours trying to talk to her, trying to figure out which object she was attached to, and had gotten nothing but a few flickering images for his trouble. But now, as soon as he had abandoned the room for the pool, she was there. Staring out the window.

 _What are you waiting for_?

The lack of answer to that question troubled him more than anything else. Yes, she'd had a violent death, but that wasn't why a spirit stuck around. They usually had a reason. Unfinished business. Something they wanted to do, something they couldn't let go of. What was Jessica holding on to?

She perched on the window ledge, gazing down at the pool. Sam closed his eyes again.

"Hey, stranger," said a familiar voice. A spray of water showered Sam's torso. He touched his feet to the pool floor and swiped wet hair out of his face. Jenna sat on the edge of the pool, kicking her bare feet through the water, an intent look on her face. "Hey. What brings you here?"

Sandy may have wanted to know the detailed story of his life so far, but Sam was pretty sure Jenna didn't care. They'd never been at odds, not really, but they had never been close either. Jenna had been wrapped up in her own plans; graduating high school, starting college. And Sam had been wrapped up in Jess.

Her daughter, little Jessica, sat at Jenna's side, kicking her heels against the cement. Bored with the grown-up conversation already. She represented everything that Sam hadn't thought about for years. What would his child look like, his and Jessica's? What could their life have been, if the demons had never come? He could picture them, Jessica with the first bits of gray in her hair and crinkles around her eyes. Maybe ten or twenty pounds heavier. Him, flabby and pale from days spent at the office, hair trim and court-appropriate. He didn't recognize that man, didn't know who he was or what he would be like. Once he could picture it so clearly, but now, that Sam seemed like a complete stranger.

"Mommy, look, the lady is here." Jessica pointed up toward the hotel. "Can I go play with her?"

Sam cocked his head, and glanced up. "Lady?" She was still there, dressed in white, her image shimmering in the sun. She smiled, and waved. Little Jessica waved back.

 _She could have been ours_. The thought came unbidden, and Sam hastily shoved it aside.

"What?" Jenna didn't bother to look up. She just shook her head, and opened her purse to pull out a coloring book and crayons. "No, sweetie. We'll go to the city pool later. Just wait while Mommy and Sam talk. Here."

"I want my Elsa and Anna book."

Jenna heaved an exasperated sigh. "It's at the lake, and we can't go to the lake. No idea why, but that's what grandpa said, and it's grandpa's house. This won't take long." Jenna gave Jessica a soft push toward a nearby table. The little girl took her crayons and went as directed, but she scuffed her feet against the pavement the entire way.

"So, Sam." Jenna set her purse aside and fixed her attention on Sam. She'd always been assertive, never hesitated to state her opinion, but she'd never held herself with so much authority before. She wanted something from him, and she expected to get it.

Must come from having to wrangle three children on a daily basis.

"Yes?" Sam asked warily.

Jenna swirled her toes through the water. "My mom gave you a box of things that belonged to Jessica. Thing is, she didn't ask me before she gave that stuff away. Some of it wasn't hers to give."

"Oh?" Sam could see exactly where this was headed. _Not good._

"It's just a little thing, a toy. I bought it for her when I was five, saved up my entire allowance for three months to get it for her birthday. I was happy to have it in the play room at my parent's house, but if Mom doesn't want it there-it's mine. I want it back."

"The Smurfette."

Jenna smiled. "Yes."

 _No problem_. That was what Sam wanted to say. But he couldn't. It was one thing for him to bring a ghost home. It was quite another to send her with Jenna.

"Your mom gave those things to me. I'd like to keep them."

A flash of annoyance crossed Jenna's face, replaced quickly by a cajoling smile. "It's one tiny toy, Sam. You can keep the rest."

There was a storm brewing under that smile, but he couldn't change his answer. "I'm sorry, Jenna, but I can't let anything go. The answer is no."

She let out an annoyed huff. "Why do you care about the Smurfette?"

"It was Jessica's. That's what makes is special, right?"

She eyed him as if she were considering jumping on him, but thought better of it. Her eyes flicked in all directions, searching for another option. Jenna never was much for patience. "I'll pay you."

Sam winced. "I don't want your money."

Jenna stopped playing with the water and glared. "What do you want?"

 _I want Jessica back_. "Nothing, Jenna. This isn't a negotiation. You can't have it."

"Agh!" Jenna vented a frustrated yell, slapped the water with her feet, and stood up. She gathered up her flip-flops and purse and called, "Jessica, it's time to go. Jessica!" Her tone reached a new height, and she clutched at her bag. The table was empty, the coloring book abandoned. The pool area was deserted; there wasn't another soul in sight.

"Jessica!" The cry sounded as if had been ripped out of her very soul. "Jessie baby, come out now! Jessie!"

Sam heaved himself out of the pool and placed a calming hand on Jenna's shoulder. "I think I might know where she is. Come on."

"Where?"

"Playing with her imaginary friend." Sam pulled Jenna into the hotel, shivering as the air-conditioning hit his wet skin.

Jenna gaped. "What? How does that tell you where she is?"

Sam slapped the call button for the elevator. "How long has Jessie been playing with an imaginary friend that she calls the lady?"

Jenna shrugged. "Since she learned how to talk."

"Where does she play with her?"

Jenna frowned. "At my parents' house. How did you know that?"

Sam stopped the elevator at the third floor and moved down the hall to his room. "Just a guess. What does the lady look like? I assume you've never seen her?"

"How can I see an imaginary friend?"

Sam bit back a smirk. "You'd be surprised. What does she look like?"

"She looks like me, only she always wears a white dress. I don't know where Jessie thought that up."

So. Jessica had been playing with her niece for years. Sam shivered, thinking of another spirit who just wanted to play. For all he knew, that one was still there.

A giggle echoed down the hall. Jenna gasped and sprinted for the source of the sound-Sam's room. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see the little girl spinning, hair fanned out around her shoulders, hands lifted into the air as if she wanted someone to pick her up.

"Jessica!" Jenna charged forward. The door slammed shut, bashing into her nose. Jenna stumbled back, dazed. "What? Jessica!"

"Mommy?" A small voice called through the door. "Mommy, the lady is here!"

Sam tried the handle. It was ice cold and didn't budge.

"Great. She's locked in your hotel room." Jenna rounded on Sam. "Where's your key card?"

"A key isn't going to help us now." Sam let go of the handle and pressed his hands to the door. "Jessica, can you hear me? I need you to listen to me."

"Jessie! Time to go. Come one, baby."

"But Mommy! We're not done."

"Now!" Jenna snapped, in her best Mom-voice.

Footsteps approached the door, and the handle rattled from the inside. "Mommy, the door won't open. The lady wants me to stay. We're not done yet."

"You can play with the lady at grandma's."

"No, she's not there anymore, she's here!"

Jenna rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I am so sick of this imaginary friend. It was cute at first. But this is ridiculous. Jessica! Open the door now!"

Sam winced. "That might not be a good idea."

Jenna glared at him. "Where's your key card?"

"In there." Sam gestured to the door. "Look, go to the front desk and get me a new one, ok? I'll stay here."

"Fine." Jenna bit out the word between her teeth, sharp and white, before pounding down the stairs again.

Sam turned to the door. "Jessica." He wasn't speaking to the child. "Come on, Jess. This isn't good. I know you're having fun. I know you're lonely. But Jessie needs to go home with her mom. You're worrying your sister. Please. Let me in?"

The door didn't budge. Inside, Sam could hear two sets of giggles. He ran his hand through his hair and pressed his forehead to the door. _Stop thinking like a hunter_. Jessica didn't need to hear from the man who had spent the past decade killing monsters. She needed to hear from the college boy she had left behind. Sam shook his head at the memories of how they used to be, who he used to be. Where had that boy gone?

"Hey, Jess." Sam could hear the difference in his tone. Softer, gentler. "You know you make a great aunt. I know you always said Jenna should never reproduce, but she did pretty good, huh? I'd love to meet her."

The handle clicked and the door swung free. Sam pushed it open to see little Jessie bouncing on the bed. She had the Smurfette clutched in one hand. When she saw Sam, she landed on her rump with a frown. "Oops."

"It's a hotel bed, it's ok." Sam reached out to take her hand and guided her down off the bed. "I think your Mom is ready to go, though."

"Aww." Jessie sighed, and held up the Smurfette. "Is this what Mommy wanted?"

"Yeah." Sam took it from her. "But I'm gonna keep it for a little while, ok?"

Jessie shrugged. She turned to the bed, and Sam saw Jessica there, still in the white nightgown. "Bye, lady. Will you come back to grandma's soon?"

Jessica didn't say anything, just returned Jessie's wave. Sam guided Jessie out the door, picking up the bag of salt on his way. Jenna met them in the hallway, a fresh key-card in her hand.

"Jessie!" Jenna dropped to her knees to hug her daughter. "You scared me! Jessie, don't ever do that again. You never leave me, understand?"

Jessica frowned, but nodded. "I'm sorry Mommy. I was just playing with the lady."

Jenna took a firm grip on Jessie's hand and rose to face Sam. "Look, Sam, that toy-"

"I'll think about it, ok?"

Jenna glared, but there was nothing else she could do. She nodded, turned, and went back toward the elevator. Sam watched her leave, eyes caught by a mark on her heel: scratches in the shape of a celtic knot. He didn't know what it meant yet, he only knew that every victim had been branded with it. Before they were eaten.

"Wait!"

Jenna paused. "Yes?"

"Where did you get that scratch?"

"Swimming. It's weird, it's taking a long time to heal." Jenna shrugged. "I'll see you later, Sam." The elevator doors closed, and with them so did something inside Sam's heart.

Jenna was marked. Jessie was playing games with a ghost. This was not good.

000 Lakeport 000

Brian set the phone aside and looked around his empty office. Dean had the information. He would be out looking for the monster right now. Part of him wanted to be out by the lake, helping. Part of him wanted to be on the other side of the country.

Neither was an option. He had a golf game lined up this afternoon with some old friends. Sandy was expecting home until dinner. It was Saturday. A day to play, to rest, to enjoy.

His eyes settled on the photographs on his desk. Jessica, eternally twenty-two, smiling at him from a distant summer. Jenna, her frame was updated every few years. In the current photograph, she was surrounded by three smiling children. And Sandy. He also updated hers whenever possible. They were growing together through life, and he didn't need her twenty or thirty or even forty-year-old face in his sight. He wanted her as she was now, the wife waiting for him at home.

She was still angry with him. She had said she understood, said that they were alright, but the distance remained. She had been quiet, lost in her own musings and declining to share. Not that he could blame her; he'd been doing the same thing. It seemed to be a side-effect of proximity to Winchesters. There hadn't been this much silence in the home since the last time Sam was in Lakeport. Keeping secrets was contagious.

He couldn't tell her.

 _She wouldn't believe me_.

Not until she saw it for herself. At least, that was what he'd told himself all these years. It was a comfortable fiction. One that had served him well, kept him from examining his real motivations.

He didn't want to ruin the world of her, as it had been ruined for him. He wanted her to feel safe at night.

Another lie. When had he become so good at them?

I don't want to see what she will do if she knows the truth. Jenna had a penchant to rush right into danger, heedless of the consequences. If she wanted something, if she cared about something, she went toward it full-throttle. She had not inherited that trait from her father. If Sandy found out what Sam really did, if she had suspicions about why Jessica really died-Brian didn't know what to expect. It was what scared him the most. She had always loved Sam fiercely, like one of her own. He had lacked a mother, and Sandy had determined to fill the role. She had been most upset when Sam left, never to be heard from again. If she thought he needed it, she would plunge into the supernatural world he inhabited without a backward glance.

Of course, that was part of why he loved her so much.

 _I want to be with my wife_. It was silly, not to have realized it before. Sam's presence had stirred up memories, if nothing else. So much so that Sandy had given away Jessica's things. Without speaking to him about it first.

So. There it was. The real reason he was hiding in his office and not speaking to his wife.

He sent a quick text to his friends. He would join the game a different day.

Brian had roses in his hands and a smile on his face when he entered his home. "Surprise! Sandy! Honey! I cancelled the game with the guys. I though we-"

Brian stopped, and stared at his wife. She was curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, a magazine in her hand. _Busty Asian Beauties,_ the title proudly declared, and a lurid photograph on the cover promised even better within the pages. Brian's words screeched to a halt. His thoughts stuttered and sputtered, images of a romantic afternoon crashing.

"What-are you reading-?"

Sandy closed the magazine, set her tea much aside, and fixed him with a serious expression. "Brian. You're home. Good. We need to talk."

 **NOTE: So, what do you think? Will Dean be able to make peace with Sheriff Mann? What will Sam do now that he knows Jenna is marked? Why hasn't Jessica moved on? More coming soon. Please review!**


	9. Time for Truth

**Chapter 9: Time for Truth**

Dim lighting, loud music, and a grimy table-top. It was the same everywhere, no matter what corner of the country he traveled to. Ever since he'd been a child, seedy bars and cheap beer had been at the center of Dean's comfort zone. He settled into the booth and wrapped both hands around his beer. The cheap liquid hit his throat, and he grimaced. Terrible. Exactly what he needed.

It settled his nerves, which had been rattled ever since he found his car had been invaded. The idea of someone reading his journals was like an itch he couldn't shake, but he had no way to track down the culprit now. He had a sneaking suspicion the answer would be forthcoming sooner rather than later.

Just like everything about this job went sideways sooner rather than later.

They had gone about this all wrong. In Sam's eagerness to please, and Dean's hesitation to make a wrong move around the Moore's, they'd left all of their best habits behind. Telling the truth, working for the government, Dean didn't know how to play that role. He was done trying.

Sheriff Mann sat across the table, swirling his beer and giving Dean sideways looks, one hand settled near his belt, in easy reach of his gun. He was suspicious, and he had every right to be. Sam and Dean didn't belong in his happy small-town world, and he knew it. They didn't fit, so he automatically classified them as a threat and reacted accordingly.

"So, Mr. Winchester, what do you have to tell me that will change everything? You think we'll swap stories over beer and be best buddies? You'll let me beat you at darts and I'll be eternally grateful and stop dogging your every step?"

"First, you could never beat me at darts. Second, I'm not the story-telling kind. Third, you're gonna get yourself hurt, not the other way around, if you keep poking your nose in our business. This is for your own good."

"Oh?" Mann pushed his beer aside, untouched. Keeping a clear head for the conversation ahead.

Dean took a long drink and smacked his lips appreciatively. "No, Sheriff, I am not going to try to manipulate or bribe you. I can see that it won't work. You are an experienced lawman, and you've made it clear you can't be conned. So I'm dropping the act and I'm telling you the truth."

Mann leaned, elbows on the table. "Really? And what is the truth, Mr. Winchester? Are you going to tell me you weren't on the FBI's most wanted list?"

"Oh, no, we were on it." Dean reached into his coat and pulled out a badge he'd made especially for this job. Just in case. And because he'd always wanted one. An FBI badge for Dean Winchester. He handed it over to Sheriff Mann for inspection. "We're in the FBI. We were working undercover, trying to draw out some really nasty perps. They were getting suspicious, and we needed to do something to convince them we were serious, and draw them into our trap. There was a nation-wide man-hunt, but we weren't the target, we were the bait. Worked so well the first time, we used the same strategy again."

Mann opened his mouth, but Dean held up a hand. "No, no. I know what you're going to say. What about the videos of the massacres at the bank and the diner? We have a guy in L.A. It's amazing what people can do with camera angles and blue screens."

Mann's eyes narrowed, and he focused in on Dean's badge. "FBI agents. But Sam dropped out of Stanford."

Dean shrugged. "He transferred. Didn't want to stay in Palo Alto after his girlfriend died, so he finished school closer to home. We went through Quantico at the same time. Our dad taught us a special skill set when we were kids, and the FBI couldn't wait to put us in the field. We take on the nastiest cases, and that's what we've got here. I can't share the details, but I can tell you that if you get in our way, you'll just cause more trouble."

"Undercover FBI." Sheriff Mann shook his head and downed half his beer in one go. "So, Winchester, this is what you look like when you're telling the truth?"

Dean flashed his best 'good old boy' grin. "You strike me as a man who knows the truth when he hears it."

"Hm." Mann handed the badge back to Dean. "Why not just come in, declare the case your jurisdiction, and cut me out?"

"When the FBI comes around, word gets out. We need to keep this one quiet, for reasons I can't explain. No one else can know we're FBI. Not even the Mayor."

Mann's eyebrows climbed his forehead, and the edges of his mouth twitched, fighting a grin. "The Mayor doesn't know?"

Dean shook his head. "No. His history with Sammy gave us the perfect in. He thinks we're here to do research. You know the line Sam fed you at the morgue?"

"I knew that was bullshit!"

"The Mayor bought it hook, line, and sinker. We need to keep it that way, ok?"

"You got it, Agent Winchester." Mann smiled and finished off his beer. "Want another round?"

"Sure." Dean lifted his glass and raised it to the Sheriff. "Here's to telling the truth." He drained his glass dry and settled back for a good story-swapping session.

"You know, the Mayor isn't always the best at spotting cons." Mann leaned forward. "Once, we were working this case with a string of bad credit cards and…"

Dean's phone rang, cutting off the Sheriff mid-sentence. Claire. "Sorry, Sheriff, this is an important call." Dean answered the phone. "Hey, what's up?"

"Sam's not here," Claire said.

"What do you mean?" Dean's voice dropped dangerously low. Even though it wasn't Claire's fault his brother was chronically incapable of doing as he was told.

"Well, you told me to check on him and call you if there was a problem. But he's not here. He's not in his room, he's not in the hotel, he's not anywhere near here."

"Right. I'm on my way." Dean cut off the call and turned back to the Sheriff. "Sorry, Sheriff. Another time. Duty calls." Dean dropped a bundle of cash on the table to cover the beers and stepped out of the dingy bar and into the bright afternoon sun.

Kelpie, vanished. Journals, stolen. Brother, missing. Something was up. Something was wrong, and Dean was going to find out what.

000 Lakeport 000

Brian sat under the awning at the entrance to the Holiday Inn. It was a pleasant spot, covered in shade with a slight breeze ruffling his hair. A fountain burbled at his side, and soft music piped from speakers fixed in the awning. It was designed by a team of marketing professionals to creation a sensation of relaxation. But nothing could soothe the tension in Brian's shoulders, not today. He felt like a band-aid had been ripped off his heart, one he had forgotten he was wearing.

She had found out about everything. The darkness in the world that he had tried so hard to hide from her, she had taken in in the space of an afternoon. She hadn't cracked, hadn't cried, hadn't even had the urge to run and hide. It didn't scare her, didn't even surprise her. Because she'd had a secret, too.

Jessica.

Brian clenched the magazines in his hand, rolled up to hide the inappropriate covers from public view. All this time spent hiding from the shadows, and he'd missed the most important thing to happen in his house these past twelve years.

He rubbed his chest, but there was no band-aid to help this ache.

Sun flashed in his eyes, the glare reflected off of a black metal surface. Brian looked up to see the Impala rumble into a parking space. He rose to his feet and straightened his shirt. Sam would be irritated, but wouldn't take it out on anyone, Brian was fairly sure. But he didn't really know Dean, not well.

How would he react to the theft? Brian didn't know. It was why he had insisted Sandy stay home for this part.

"Dean." He waved at the hunter as he stepped out of his car.

Dean waved, then paused when he caught sight of the magazine-roll in Brian's hand. A thunderous clouded his face, and then came to stand toe-to-toe with Brian, arms crossed.

"Mayor," he rumbled.

"Dean." Brian let the magazines flop open, revealing their covers. "I believe these are yours."

"Damn straight." Dean snatched the magazines from his hands. "What did you need to know, that you couldn't ask Sam? You broke into my car."

"I-didn't." Brian had considered trying to shield Sandy from this, but they had both decided to be done with lies, even small omissions. "My wife did." He watched Dean's reaction carefully. Sandy could be packed and out of town within the hour.

Dean pulled his journals closer to his torso. "Sandy?" He rocked back a step, and gave Brian a sideways look. "Your wife? Huh. You married a smart woman, Mayor. I knew she wouldn't be happy with our story for long. Wait-" He frowned. "She broke into my car? I didn't think she was the type."

Brian shrugged. "Sam taught her how."

Dean's mouth tilted in a half-grin. Brian relaxed; the danger had passed. "Of course he did. So. What did she make of it?"

Brian pursed his lips. "Actually, she wasn't really surprised. It turns out she's seen a bit of the supernatural herself."

"Really?"

Brian nodded. "I think she may have sent a ghost home with you."

The thunder was back in Dean's face, dark and dangerous. "What?" he growled. "Your wife sent Jessica's ghost with Sam _on purpose_?"

"You knew?"

"Yeah, I knew as soon as the lights went out at dinner. Classic ghost signs." Dean clenched the magazines in a tight fist and pointed the roll at Brian's chest. "So help me, if anything happens to Sam-"

"Happens?" Brian swallowed against a sudden bitter taste in the back of his throat. "What could happen? She's a flickering image, at most. Sometimes, she sings to the grandchildren. That's all. They think she's their imaginary friend."

"Imaginary friend?" Dean wiped a hand over his face. "Mayor-spirits are dangerous. They don't understand what's happened to them, they don't see clearly through the veil and don't understand what is happening in the world around them. They're stuck with the feelings they had when they died, usually rage and pain. They almost always go vengeful."

Vengeful. The word was clear, sharp and bloody, but Brian still had to ask, "What does that mean?"

"They start to do things. Like short out the electricity and make the room go cold. Then they start moving things around, locking doors, throwing things. Eventually, they get strong enough to possess other people. And they start to kill."

"Kill?" Brian shook his head. "Jessica would never-"

"Jessica was killed by a demon. She died bloody and in pain and who knows how mad she was when she passed. She's not your daughter anymore, not really. She's a shadow of the person she was, stuck in a world she doesn't belong in anymore. She's got to move on."

"Yes," Brian latched onto those words. He knew the right answer when he heard it, even if his feelings didn't follow. "That's what Sandy wanted. She wanted to her to move on. She knew it wasn't good-"

"Did she now? How?" Dean growled.

"I don't know. She just said she knew Jessica needed to move on, and it wasn't going to happen if she stayed with us. She hoped Jessica's ghost could find what she needed with Sam."

"Yeah, or kill him."

"No," Brian said instantly. "Not Jessica, not my daughter." It didn't matter what Dean knew about the supernatural world, he didn't know Jessica. Not the way her father did. "She'd never-Sandy had no idea that could be possible."

"I think it's time your wife and I had a little talk. As soon as I find Sam." Dean moved around Brian, but he caught Dean's sleeve. The hunter was angry, and he had every right to be, but Brian knew there might not be another time to ask his question.

"Can I talk to her? Jessica. Do you know of a way I can see her, tell her-say goodbye?" He knew she couldn't stay, but they'd been robbed of a proper farewell. Her loss had been a sudden surprise, a gaping, empty hole in a future that she should have filled. More than anything, he'd wished for just a few more moments.

Dean stopped and turned back to Brian, and his expression softened. "Yeah. There might be a way." He nodded to the hotel doors. A young woman exited, a large cardboard box in her hands.

"Hey, Dean. I went through all this stuff with the EMF reader, and got nothing. Whatever the ghost is attached to it isn't here."

Dean nodded, as if he wasn't surprised. "Right, Sam's got it with him. Claire, this is the Mayor. He's the one who called us in for the hunt. Did you get any leads on where Sam went?"

Claire shook her head. "No, the girl at the desk just said he went in and out a lot over the past few hours. He had something different from the box with him each time."

"Hm. He's testing."

Claire shrugged. "Maybe. Look, Dean, I was thinking. This thing we're hunting, the kelpie. How could it-"

"Not now, Claire. We've got to find Sam." Claire glared, but Dean held up a hand. "He hasn't answered his phone for half an hour, and he's alone with a ghost he's got a lot of history with."

"Brian." Dean turned to the Mayor. "Do you know where Sam might be? I mean, where would he and Jessica go together?"

Brian frowned. He didn't want Dean and his gun anywhere near his daughter, ghost or not, but he also knew they needed to find Sam. "There was the park across from their apartment. Jessica liked to pack a picnic on the weekend."

Dean nodded and steered Brian toward his car. "That sounds about right. Show me the way."

000 Lakeport 000

Sleepy Hollow Park. The name had always seemed ominous to Sam. He couldn't help but think of Ichabod Crane running from the headless horseman. Not that Sam would ever be afraid of a headless horseman-he was likely just a vengeful spirit, and a little salt would keep him at bay easily enough. Jessica had never cared. She'd laughed when he mentioned it, and strode right past the sign to spread their picnic blanket under this tree. It was a big old weeping willow with low-hanging branches that draped a green curtain over their private alcove.

The grass was thick and springy today, no blanket needed. The tree trunk was smooth, and Sam leaned back into the grooved surface, hands behind his head, waiting.

He had been back and forth from the park to the hotel six times already, once with each object from Jessica's box, starting with the Smurfette. So far, there had been no reaction. Either this was it, and she would show up, or he still had no idea which object Jessica had attached herself to.

Sam turned the diamond ring over in his fingers, watching the shadows play over the multi-faceted surface. He had imagined showing it to her, the look on her face, placing it on her finger, so many times. The images rolled through his mind, familiar and real as if they were actual memories. He could see her in her wedding dress, glowing in white with a bouquet of daisies in her hands. He didn't know what flowers she would have chosen for their wedding, but he always saw her with daisies; sunny and warm.

There had never been any question of her answer when he offered the ring. She had made that clear months before, here in Lakeport, after she had met his family and made the choice to stay with him anyway. The ring just mean that they finally had enough money saved up to make their dreams real.

What would she have done, if she'd learned the truth? The real truth? There was no way to know.

"I miss you." Sam felt tears rolling down his cheeks, and didn't bother to wipe them away. It had been years since he had thought about Jess, years since he had last cried for her. But it felt the same today as it had then. "We were so good together, you and me. You made me laugh more than anyone else I've ever known. I needed that."

"You were the sweet one," Jessica said. She was there beside him, her hand wrapped around his. Around the engagement ring she had never worn. "When I was surrounded by a bunch of jocks trying to impress the pretty girl, you saw me."

"You made me feel like I could have a home, for the first time in my life."

"You were sad and mysterious, when my life had no unanswered questions. You made life exciting, Sam Winchester."

Sam placed his hand on top of hers. It felt warm, solid, almost real. Almost.

"Jessica. What are you doing here? What are you waiting for?"

"I've been waiting for you, Sam. You said you'd be back for your interview. If you get that scholarship, we don't have to wait until you graduate law school to get married. It's our whole future on a platter."

The words wrenched at something in his chest. "Jess. That was over ten years ago."

She placed her hand on his cheek. "I've been waiting for you, Sam." She leaned forward, drawing his head closer for a long, deep kiss. Sam didn't resist. He wanted it, longed for it, but it wasn't right. He could see her in front of him, feel her presence against him, but with none of her warmth, no heartbeat, no breath.

She was dead, and there was no escaping that fact.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry Jess, so sorry I was too late."

"I made cookies." She smiled. "Your favorite. Do you want some?"

"I don't think-"

"Sammy!" The voice was familiar, Sam had heard that deep bellow a thousand times. One word conveyed a hundred things all at once. _Where are you. I'm worried about you. If you aren't dead I'll kill you myself for worrying me_. But, more than anything, it was a warning to anything that might threaten him.

Like a vengeful spirit.

Sam turned and saw his big brother striding across the park in full attack mode, reaching behind his back for his gun. Brian Moore trotted behind him, staring at Jess.

Sam raised a hand. "Dean it's ok-"

Bang! The gunshot cracked across the park. Jessica shrieked, and winked out. Wind whipped through the tree branches.

"Sammy, are you ok?" Dean hadn't lowered his gun, and dodged away from Brian, who looked ready to knock the firearm out of Dean's grip.

"What did you do? Where did she go?" Brian gasped.

"Iron rounds dispel spirits," Dean said tersely.

"Dean, I'm fine. She's not-" Sam pulled himself to his feet and moved toward his brother, to demonstrate that all body parts were fully intact and functional. He was stopped by a fall of tree limbs. The curtain of weeping willow branches drew together, blocking his path.

Or blocking Dean from getting in.

"Not vengeful," Sam finished. _Yet_ , the small voice at the back of his head that sounded a lot like Bobby said.

"Sam!" Dean beat at the branches, but the wind just grew stronger.

"Sam." Jessica's voice sounded hollow. She was back, her arms wrapped around him, cold but strong. "Don't leave me."

Sam felt the icy chill sink into his chest. He wrapped his fingers around the diamond ring in his palm. "I never wanted to, Jess. I won't leave you again. I promise."

Deans face broke through the branches, followed closely by the fist clutching his gun. Sam held up his hand. "No. Don't, Dean."

Dean's grimaced in frustration. "Sam." There was a warning in his tone. Sam figured he had until the count of five before Dean let off another round.

Apparently, so did Jess. She stepped around Sam, glaring at Dean. Dean braced, and aimed the gun. Jessica lunged, launching a wave of kinetic energy that knocked Dean off his feet. Brian also stumbled backwards, caught in the blast, and smashed into a picnic table. Dean rolled across the grass, the gun flying in the opposite direction. It bounced against the tree trunk and landed in the grass at Jessica's feet.

Sam grabbed the gun, but when he looked up, he was alone. Jessica was nowhere to be seen. The willow tree hung limp, branches waving gently in the breeze. Dean was crawling to his feet, his posture stiff. Brian was slumped on the picnic table bench, clutching his shoulder, face taut with pain.

Sam ran forward. "Mayor. Are you alright?"

Brian blinked, eyes wet with tears. "That was Jessica, wasn't it? Did I just see my daughter again?"

"You saw her ghost." Dean staggered toward them. "She threw you into that picnic table, and I'm guessing that shoulder is dislocated. There's nothing nostalgic or happy about this, Mayor. She's getting stronger, and she's getting angry." He fixed his glare on Sam. "Which means she has to go."

Sam clenched his jaw and slipped the ring back into his pocket. "I'm not going to burn her, Dean. She burned to death, I'm not doing that to her again."

"Sam, you know it doesn't hurt them. We even did it for Bobby. It's a one-way ticket to heaven, she'll be a lot happier there."

Sam shook his head. "We're not burning her, Dean. We have to find another way."

Dean's expression was a familiar one. It said, _I know this won't work, but I just can't fight the puppy-eyes_. "Fine, but we're going do this one hunt at a time." Dean held out his hand. "Jessica is going in a safe box until the Kelpie is dead."

Dean's tone left no room for negotiation. It didn't matter how old they got. It didn't matter how much Sam grew up, proved he was responsible. Dean couldn't ever leave protector-mode behind entirely. It also helped that he wasn't wrong.

Sam reached into his pocket and dropped the ring into Dean's hand. Dean's eyebrows rose and his eyes grew sad. _Aw, Sammy_. Sam could hear the sympathy in that silence. He curled his shoulders under the swell of pity and looked away.

It was an old hope, long gone. Or so he had thought.

Dean tucked the ring into his pocket. As soon as they reached the car, it would go into an iron box full of protective wards. "Alright then. Let's go see what Claire wanted to talk about. We have a kelpie to kill. Mayor." Dean turned to Brian. "We've got painkillers and a sling in the trunk. Are you coming?"

Brian met Sam's eyes, and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I think will."

 **NOTE: Please Review!**


	10. Here We Go Again

**Chapter 10: Here We Go Again**

 _My daughter is here_. The thought drowned out all else, pumping through Brian's veins like morphine, numbing him to the world, to the pain, to the fear. His shoulder ached, but he didn't know it. His heart was heavy, but he couldn't feel it. He should be worried, but his thoughts wouldn't cooperate. All he knew was, _I saw her_.

There was no mistaking it; her flowing blonde hair, her slender figure, her smiling eyes. Except at the end, her expression had been dark and clouded, full of rage that he had never seen on Jessica's face when she was alive.

Brian glanced at Sam, staring out the passenger window, and at Dean, eyes fixed determinedly on the road. The interior of the car practically wept, there was too much raw feeling bundled into the small space. The emptiness between them all was filled with her presence, even though they couldn't see her anymore. She was tucked in Dean's pocket, attached to the diamond ring that Sam had bought for their engagement.

She had been so excited about that ring, about Sam's interview for law school, about their plans for the future. Jessica had always been full of joy. She embraced the world and all its wonder with a steady smile and a heart full of hope. Those last few months, she had been happier than ever, certain of her future and the choices she had made.

The apparition Brian had seen; she was not happy, was not hopeful. She was sad, lost, angry. It was Jessica, but it wasn't. The wrongness of it was palpable to anyone to had known her.

Sandy had seen it for some time now. Dean knew immediately. Jessica's presence here was not good. Not for her, not for anyone. The ache in his shoulder was proof of that. She needed to move on.

But all Brian wanted to do was see her again. Never once in twelve years had she appeared to him, but for Sam she made herself visible within a day. He was the last person she saw before she died. He was the last thing on her mind. It made sense. Still. The sudden euphoria vanished, and suddenly every part of Brian ached deeply. His eyes fell on Dean's pocket, where the ring sat.

They pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot. Dean took an iron box and a piece of chalk from the trunk before leading the way to their hotel room. Claire met them at the door, bursting with news.

"You're back! Finally! I've been going over this research, and I think I know where this all started. We know it's a kelpie, but do you know the question no one has asked yet?"

A fond smile tugged at the corner of Dean's mouth, but he wouldn't let it show. "No, but it sounds like you're gonna tell me."

"How did it get here? I mean, kelpies are Scottish, right?"

Sam blinked, his distant expression snapping into focus as if he'd just realized they were back. "That's a good point."

Claire beamed. "Exactly! So I did some digging, and I didn't have to go far. The first victim, two weeks ago, look at her last name." Claire turned the laptop screen to face them, finger tapping the by-line of a newspaper article.

"MacTavish." Brian didn't need to read the paper. He knew all of their names. "Dierdre MacTavish, aged 57. Third-generation Scottish. Her great-grandparents came over in the late 1800s. Arlene MacTavish would tell stories of her grandmother Annie to anyone who would listen. She died-"

"Three months ago," Claire finished. "The family sold a bunch of her stuff to pay for the funeral. Including this." Claire hit a button to pull up a different tab, this one showing an old-fashioned bridle inscribed with celtic knot work. "The lore says the kelpie can be tamed by an enchanted bridle. Looks like the MacTavish's had one."

"They also owned a home on the lake," Brian said. "The kelpie's lair could be very near there."

Dean nodded. "Good, it's a place to start. Now." He fixed his eyes on Claire, like a teacher throwing a pop quiz. "How do we kill it?"

Claire drew in a breath. "I have no idea. The lore just says you catch it, it doesn't say anything about killing it."

"Cut off its head and burn the corpse," Sam said. Brian raised his eyebrows, and Sam shrugged. "It's what usually works with corporeal monsters."

"There's not much that can come back from that," Dean agreed. "Not if it's a flesh and blood monster instead of a spirit. Should do the trick. Where is that bridle?"

"It doesn't matter. It's broken." Claire pointed to a crack in the harness on the photograph. "But, the lore says most Scottish monsters don't like iron or silver. Those iron bullets you used earlier clearly hurt it."

"Iron it is." Dean pulled out a duffle full of weaponry and started doling out wrought-iron ammunition.

"Did you find out anything about the marks the victims had?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, we saw that first-hand," Dean replied. "It's a binding spell, it's how the kelpie drags its victims under water."

Sam's lips compressed in a line.

"Why?" Dean's voice dropped an octave, a warning and a worry wrapped into one.

Sam looked apologetically at Brian, and the Mayor felt his stomach clench. "Because Jenna is marked. I saw it earlier today, on her ankle."

"Jenna?" Brian put a hand on his chest. His heart banged against his ribs. He'd seen the other victims, faces frozen in fear, skin shredded. "How do we stop it?" His voice sounded small, cracking with fear. The image that hovered behind his eyes was Jessica's face as he had seen it last, skin burned black, surrounded by the chill of the morgue.

 _I can't lose another daughter_.

"Hey, she'll be fine." Dean had placed his hand on Brian's shoulder, strong fingers bracing him. "The kelpie has to get close enough to use the spell. It only works in the water. As long as she doesn't go to the lake, she'll be safe. We're going to set a trap for this thing and draw it out. Your daughter is going to be fine."

He spoke with such easy conviction, Brian felt the fear washing away on reflex. But another thought wormed its way through his mind. Something Sam had said earlier. _Someone else will die_. They could never save everyone.

Dean's calming word's bounced off of Sam without effect. His jaw was set, his shoulders set, his chest puffed to make him look larger than he was. Every bit of him was ready for action, and he shifted on his feet. "I'll go keep an eye on her. Make sure she's ok."

Sam checked the gun in his belt and grabbed a shotgun. He would be a human barricade, Brian had no doubt. He had seen Sam in action before, seen that look before. Nothing was going to hurt Jenna, unless Sam was dead first.

He nearly smashed his nose in the door when it refused to open. Sam rattled the handle, but it wouldn't budge. A cold breeze swept through the room, even though the window was closed.

"Jessica?" Brian's voice was stuck in his throat, all of the breath suddenly gone, his heart stuttering to keep a steady pace. As if his body thought that if it imitated her in death, he could be closer to her. He was numb to all else, his senses searching for one thing.

He jumped when he saw her, standing between Sam and the door, eyes wide, imploring. "Don't go. Stay with me."

"Wow." Claire breathed, staring. "It that a ghost?"

"Yep." Dean pulled the ring out of his pocket and opened the iron box he'd pulled out of the Impala's trunk. "Almost forgot."

Jessica moved. She didn't walk, she didn't float, she was simply, suddenly, in a different space. The un-humanness of it felt like a smack in the face. Dean didn't flinch from the ghost now standing two inches from him. He dropped the ring in the box, but before he could slam the lid shut, Jessica knocked it out of Dean's hands. It crashed into the wall.

Jessica turned back to Sam. "Don't go."

Brian wanted to move, wanted to call her name, but his body parts weren't working anymore. He remained still and silent, staring at the strange, haunted scene that played out before him. It belonged on a movie screen, not here, not now, not for real.

"Uh-do I need to be shooting something?" Claire shifted in her seat, ready to stand, or run. Her eyes sought Dean.

Dean's posture mirrored Claire's, ready and wary, and hand was slowly creeping for his gun. "Yeah, that would be good."

"No." Sam cut through the tension, his tone clear but soft. He bent to pick up the ring and cradled it in his palm. "I'll keep her with me. This is something Jessica and I have to work out."

Dean had his gun out now, but he didn't aim at anything. Only the carpet was in danger. "And if it ends with her killing you?"

"It won't." Sam's voice was soft, but the look he gave Dean was anything but. Any argument would have to involve that gun, and that wasn't an argument Dean was willing to make.

"It better not, or I'm gonna find a way to put a Reaper on a leash and take a tour of the Empty." That must have meant something to Sam, because he gave his brother a half smile.

"Just kill this kelpie, Dean. I'll take care of Jessica." Sam turned to the door, and this time, it opened without any trouble. Jessica was gone, the room suddenly warm and alive again.

Claire shivered. "Well, that was weird.

"You still with us, Mayor?"

Dean's voice pulled Brian back to the moment, and he realized he'd been staring at the door for more than a full minute. "Yes, I'm with you. What is the plan?"

Dean grinned. "I've got an idea or two."

000 Lakeport 000

Dean hated strategy games. Chess, Risk, they all took too long. Too much time spent sitting still, thinking, moving pieces on a board. But strategy, real strategy that translated into real action, that Dean loved. It felt much like working on the Impala, assembling parts just so, to make everything work together in perfect synchronization. A deep sense of accomplishment came when he pulled a plan together, set the pieces in motion, and watched it play out. A successful hunt hinged on a good plan.

Dean had a good plan. He had a team. He had access to a grade of ammunitions and explosives he usually just dreamed about. It made the grenade launcher in the trunk, the one that Sam would never let him use, seem like a BB gun. This was going to fun.

All it took was one call.

Claire watched him, arms crossed, eyes ready to roll and laugh when the line went dead and the plan fell flat on its face. Brian just looked puzzled, as if trying to fit a world that had changed into a shape that made sense. He kept staring at the door Sam had walked through, taking Jessica's ghost with him. That was ok. He had time to deal. Dean's plan didn't depend on the Mayor.

"Sheriff!" Dean greeted as soon as the phone connected. "Sheriff, you are just the person I needed to speak with. I have need of your assistance. The Mayor here doesn't believe that you can help, but I think you can. I think you are just the man for the job."

"Age-Mr. Winchester!" He could hear Mann puff with pride. "I run this department as well as the Mayor ever did. What can I do for you?"

As Dean explained, Claire's jaw slowly dropped and her eyes grew wide. Brian turned his gaze from the door, ears twitching, astonishment growing in his expression. Whether he was impressed by the plan, or the Sheriff's cooperation, Dean couldn't tell.

"Well, it's all settled." Dean closed the phone with a smile for Claire. "Time you learned how to handle something more than a shotgun."

"That was the guy who wanted to arrest you earlier, right?" Claire's tone mimicked one that Sam has used often when he was her age. One that didn't quite understand how 'life according to Dean' could be so simple. "What did you do?"

Dean shrugged. "I bought him a beer."

"That is a strategy I have not tried." Brian looked thoughtful.

"So, that's it?" Claire said.

Dean nodded. "Nothing to do until tomorrow morning. It's too late for an operation like that tonight. For this, we want daylight."

"Alright." Brian rose to his feet and reached a hand into his pocket. "Time for me to be going home. I-where are my keys?" He patted one pocket, then the other, and frowned.

"Oh, Sammy took 'em." Dean said. He'd noticed Sam's quick movements on his way out. His brother knew better than to take the Impala. Usually, he also knew better than to take such a well-known vehicle. The cars Sam jacked were usually at least ten years old, average size, average color, unremarkable in every way. They were also not attached to people the Winchester's knew.

"Sam probably thought we'd all be headed out to the lake."

"He didn't anticipate your evil genius?" Claire was chewing on a braid and perusing a Chinese take-out menu.

Sam didn't anticipate much of anything. He just reacted. Dean had rarely seen his brother look that shaken. Dean pulled out his phone so that he wouldn't forget to text Sam. Update him on the plan. Make sure he wasn't doing anything stupid. Little brothers never stopped needing looking after. It was hard work. Hungry work. Dean's stomach rumbled, and he tapped the menu.

"Put in an order of moo-shoo pork for me, and extra egg rolls. I'll be back in a bit. Mayor." Dean gestured to the door. "I'll take you home."

 _Your wife and I need to have a little talk_.

000 Lakeport 000

The black Volvo was a smooth ride. Slick and clean on the inside as it was on the outside, Sam loved everything about it. The Impala rumbled and grumbled underneath him, but the Volvo barely hummed, running silent as a whisper. Dean drove with strong, jerky motions, to counter the Impala's weight and girth. But Sam could correct the Volvo with a flick of his wrist. The seats were cool, the air conditioning tuned to ½ of a degree, and the satellite radio picked up any station Sam could desire.

Of course, he hadn't thought about any of those things when he snagged the keys from Brian's pocket and guided his car out of the parking lot. He didn't notice the finer points of the vehicles interior; leather seats, remote start, video on the mirrors to cover the blind spots. Sam didn't see a thing. All he knew was that more road lay between him and Jenna's house, and he couldn't drive fast enough.

She was marked. She was cursed. She was as good as dead. It was Winchester luck. Somehow, she would be next on the kelpie's list of ready-meals.

Sam pushed the gas pedal to the floor, though the engine barely made a sound. Houses flicked by, but Sam didn't see any of them. His vision was red at the edges. His hands were tense. Adrenaline ruled his mind, leaving only one thought.

 _Not again_.

He would tie Jenna down and cut the mark from her skin if he had to. One small cut is all it would take. One line to disrupt the symbol, and she would be free. But he would still stand guard. He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, wouldn't go to the bathroom until Dean called to say the kelpie was dead.

 _Not again_.

"Sam, sweetie." Jessica's hand landed on his, caressing the white knuckles as they gripped the gear shift. Her voice was soft, as if she'd been asleep, and he'd just woken her with a bad dream.

Sam had learned the hard way the danger of bad dreams.

"Sam," Jess said again, her voice stronger this time. He lifted his foot from the accelerator, slowing down enough to glance sideways. Her wide eyes, her concerned mouth, were enough to slow his heart.

I'm being stupid. Dean had a point. The kelpie could only kill its victims in the water. It could shape shift, lure them in, but it couldn't kill on land. The mark on Jenna was useless as long as she was on dry land and far from the lake. He took a deep breath, and let it out, and slowed to something more respectful of the speed limit.

Jenna was at home, safe with her kids, probably cooking them dinner and getting ready to watch Disney's latest hit.

Jessica's hand tightened on his. "You're worried."

He let out a choked laugh. "Worried. Yeah-oh, shoot." There was a flash in the rearview mirror, blue and white, followed by the piercing wail of a siren. Sam sighed and pulled over, hoping that it would be one of the new city cops, someone who didn't remember him. Someone who would write a ticket quickly and move on.

The stripe on the white care wasn't blue; it was tan. Sheriff's dept.

Beside him, Jessica's image flickered and vanished.

Sheriff Mann stepped out of the patrol car, hands on his hips, and swaggered forward to peer into the window. "You know, the Mayor's got a car just like this, but that isn't gonna get you through the speed traps-oh." Mann's smug banter came to a halt the instant he saw Sam. "You."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, just give me the ticket. I have somewhere to be, urgently. I promise I won't speed anymore on the way there."

Mann leaned in, eyes bright with excitement. "Urgent? Official business?"

Sam leaned back warily. Something had changed about Mann, and he didn't know what. He'd expected a lecture, a little more swagger and a whole lot of smug. What he saw was the eager, hungry expression Mann had worn when it looked like he was going to see some action, do something important, be recognized by others for his good work.

"Official business. Yes."

Mann winked. "Your brother filled me in, Agent. Don't worry, your cover is safe with me." He nodded back to the patrol car. "Do you need an escort?"

"No, that's ok."

"Right. Well then." Mann looked back in the car, and his eyes went wide. "You-you two have a good day. Ma'am." He tipped his hat toward the passenger seat and pulled back, face scrunched, looking dazed. As if he'd just seen a ghost.

Sam turned. Jessica was sitting in the passenger seat again, draped across the leather in her most causal position. One foot tucked up so that her knee rested against the window. Arm draped over the backrest. Head tilted back to take in the sun. He'd seen her lean back in that exact pose a thousand times. She looked more real, more alive, more present, than she ever had before.

"He's not so bad, you know."

"He's annoying," Sam said.

Jessica grinned. "Only because you egg him on, and you know it." She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes in dramatic imitation of Sam. "You don't need to be so tense all the time, baby." Her hand moved up his arm to caress his shoulder. "Why are you worried?"

The last time she had asked that question, the answer had been simple Grades. Money. Finals. Scholarship interviews. The list had felt endless when he was at Stanford. Every step forward had felt like a doorway to a new life, every thought of failure pushed that new life further out of reach. He'd carried the tension constantly, in little ways only Jess had noticed. And only she had been able to make him release the pressure. Relax. Expect that good things could happen.

It had all seemed to important at the time. But the worries of today made them seem like candy or toys, the little things a child worried about, but that weren't really important.

Sam pulled the car back onto the road, mindful of the speed limit this time. He didn't say a word, and neither did Jessica. But she didn't vanish, and she didn't move her hand. They were connected, always connected.

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**


	11. Reminiscing

**Chapter 11: Reminiscing**

The evening brought with it a cool breeze that brushed the landscape in tones of gray. Sam settled back in the car, windows down to catch the breeze, and watched the suburban homes close up for the evening. Children dropped their toys in the yards, called in for food and the promise of TV later. Sprinkler systems ignited, keeping the wide lawns from turning brown and crispy in the summer heat. Crickets chirped, and in the distance a dog woofed. It was a quite time, a time when one type of animal settled down for the day, and another type came out to play.

It was the time of day when Hunters left off their research, grabbed their dinner, and went to do the dirty work. Which usually started with waiting. Waiting for the ghost to appear, waiting for the vamp to show, waiting for the werewolf to sprout its fangs. Twilight was a time to wait, but on the other side of the waiting was the burst of adrenaline, the sharp bite of metal piercing flesh, the screams of the dying. Blood, salt, and then the fire, climbing high into the dark night, taking the evil away with it.

Then off to bed to sleep till noon and repeat the cycle over again.

Except this time, Dean was going to sleep peacefully through the night to rise bright and early with the full power of the Sheriff's search and rescue team behind him to search the lake. Depth charges, Dean had said, the grin audible in his voice.

 _Maybe I should have let him play with the grenade launcher. Now look what he's gone and done_.

It was a good plan, though. Sam couldn't deny that. Better than puttering around the lake in scuba gear, or trying to patrol every shore. The lake was too big for that. They needed a small army, and Dean had found them one. Somehow.

Sam stared at his phone. He'd forgotten to ask what Dean told the Sheriff to make him so cooperative.

It didn't matter. The plan was in place, and all Sam had to do was keep Jenna alive through the night. So he sat back, parked on the curb in front of her house, and waited.

000 Lakeport 000

 _Dad's been acting weird lately_. The stray thought wandered through Jenna's busy evening routine, hardly worthy of notice in the middle of dinner time and bath time and play time. Wrangling three children under ten all by herself was enough to use all her energy and more. They were constantly in motion, each going in a different direction, each calling for her attention.

"Mooom!" Jessie drew the word out, as if making it larger would make her mother feel the urgency of her situation. "I hate peas!"

"They're lima beans, and they're what's for dinner," Jenna said. "Remember the rules."

"Try them once, if you don't barf, you have to eat them." Jessie heaved a sigh, and worked her mouth around the small green beans. She made a gagging sounds, then stopped and chewed thoughtfully. "Hm."

"…and I want to name my pony Avery. He's going to be pink and blue with green sparkles and…Mommy, are you listening?" Abbi kicked at her chair, twirled her hair, and kept talking whether her mouth was full or empty. Jenna didn't know how the girl breathed or got any food down, but her plate was already cleaner than Jessie's. And she just kept going. "Do you think that My Pretty Ponies can fly to the moon? Because Avery is going to take me up, up, up…."

"To the moon?" Jenna made an 'O' with her mouth. "Wow, that's really far. What are you going to do up there?"

"Bounce! Like the man in the funny suit." Abbi bounced in her chair to demonstrate.

"Bunce, bunce!" Tyler said, and banged his cup against the side of his high chair. He leaned forward, mouth reaching for the spoon in Jenna's hand, and she shoveled in another piled of mashed lima beans.

 _Wish Dad would come in for play time_ , Jenna mused a she washed the dinner dishes in the sink. Distraction was key. Tyler was sitting on the floor beside her, one hand on her pantleg, the other on a giant spoon he was currently exploring with his tongue. At least he hadn't decided to make a drum-stick of it yet. He would get around to banging it against the floor soon enough. Abbi ran through the living room, flying from couch to coffee table with a 'magic cape' suspended over her shoulders. "Mom! Look at me!" She hopped over her big sister, who lay stretched out on the floor with a book spread out beneath her nose.

"Mo-om!" Jessie wailed. "She's in my space!"

"Teddy!" Tyler said, tossing the spoon away.

Everyone was crabby tonight. The children knew it was Saturday. They knew it was summer. Saturday and summer meant the lake, water, and grandparents. But Brian and Sandy had packed Jenna and the kids out of their house before lunch, with stern warnings from Brian not to go to the lake.

It had even been on the news, so Jenna couldn't argue. There had been another attack, and the Sheriff was closing the lake.

Wonder of wonders, maybe Dad and Mann would agree on something for once.

 _Dad_. Jenna scratched at the back of her head as she passed by the open front door, a laundry basket containing Tyler and a bundle of clean towels in her hands. It was like an itch at the back of her head. Thoughts of Dad kept jumping into her mind every time she looked out the window.

Jenna paused, took a step back, and stared out the door. Dad's black Volvo was parked on the curb. She leaned closer toward the door. That wasn't dad in the front seat. The head was too tall, the hair too long.

Sam?

"Grapa!" Tyler pointed at the car. "Teddy!"

"Baby, your teddy is at the lake house, and grandpa says we can't go. He won't bring it to me, either. Nobody's sharing their toys today." Jenna sighed as a shrieking match erupted behind her.

"That's mine!"

"Grandma says we can all play with it!"

"But she got it for me!"

Jenna didn't even glance over her shoulder to see what the ruckus was about. "If you can't play with it together, nobody gets it!"

The shrieks subsided to a whispered negotiation. Jenna put the laundry basket down. Tyler giggled and threw towels on the floor. It was his favorite game, unfolding the laundry as she tried to fold it.

"Jessie, keep an eye on Tyler." This time, Jenna did look to see that her daughter heard. Jessie nodded. Jenna pushed open the screen door and trotted across the street.

"Hey, Sam. Whatcha doin'?" She didn't bother to keep the ire out of her voice.

Sam looked like a startled rabbit, blinking in the wake of some large and frightening animal. Jenna posed with her arms crossed, eyebrow raised, toe tapping. It had never failed to drag truth answers from reluctant children. Did it work on reluctant grown-ups, too?

"Jenna, oh. Um-hi."

"Hi." Jenna said. And waited.

"I-um-"

"You thought you'd sit outside my house and stare and me and my kids all evening like some kind of perv?"

Sam blushed red, but that was no surprise. He'd live in a perpetual state of pink whenever Jenna was around. It was just too easy.

"No, no I wanted…to…" He sucked in a deep breath, and looked up at her with wide eyes that reminded her of Tyler when she was trying to feed him medicine he didn't want. It melted her insides just a bit. But there were more important things at stake here.

"Did you change your mind about that Smurfette?"

Sam's mouth moved, formed words, dropped them, tried again, until he finally said, "Yeah. I think…Look, I didn't bring it with me but, could we talk?"

"Talk?"

"Yeah." Sam's words found firmer footing. "Talk. I've been thinking about Jess a lot lately. Being back here is bringing back so much. I've realized I never really go to work through some things, say good-bye, talk about her, you know? I had to go with my brother right after her funeral and I missed being with friends and family who knew her. She was gone, and I dealt with that. But I never really had someone to remember her with."

Sam's eyes glistened, and his voice was getting rough. He turned to face the passenger seat and pinched his nose.

"Yeah." Jenna felt the rightness of it, and nodded. "Yeah, ok." She stepped back and nodded toward the house. "Come on in."

000 Lakeport 000

Sandy had no idea what to expect when Brian returned home. He had left in silence, the magazine/journals in hand to return to their rightful owner. Left her waiting, pacing the house, with nothing to do but think.

 _Monsters are real_.

The thought followed her around the house all afternoon. It lurked in the bushes while she worked in the garden. It growled in the washing machine as she sorted darks from whites. It jumped out of the closet when she put the laundry away.

 _My daughter was murdered._

It stained the mirror that she wiped down in the bathroom. It was settled in the grime she scrubbed until her arm ached. The grimed that never really went away.

 _My daughter was murdered by a monster_.

Because that was what Sam had really been trying to tell her. He hadn't been able to say it. Knew that she wouldn't believe him. It was the Thing that lurked behind all his silences. It was the darkness that put such sorrow behind those puppy eyes before Jessica even entered his life.

She had always wanted to know. And now she scrubbed, vacuumed, washed, scoured every corner of the home until the tile was white and the dishes gleamed. There was no drop in temperature. No half-caught glimpse out of the corner of her eye. No whisper of a laugh echoing through the halls. The home was empty.

 _I sent her away_.

Yet Jessica's ghost still haunted Sandy through the day. She lingered over the pots as Sandy cooked and wondered when her husband would come home. He'd looked so hurt, when she had told him. Ten years, she'd known their daughter was still here, but not once had Jessica shown herself to him. The question poured out of his eyes, so silent and sad. Why didn't I see her? And then he was gone, the proof with him.

Handwritten notes tucked between the covers of a porn magazine.

It was hardly scientific evidence. It didn't offer any explanations, just simple belief. She ought to have scoffed, tossed it aside, let the idea go as a madman's delusion. But she knew Sam and Dean, knew they weren't mad. Knew their world was more than it seemed. All of the pieces fit so neatly, she didn't dare not believe.

"Oh, Jessica. What happened to you, my darling? What were you trying to tell me?" The words bounced off the kitchen walls; the home was empty, truly empty for the first time in years.

But the space in Sandy's heart still ached.

"Honey?" Brian called, opening the door. Right on time, always on time for dinner. Never in over forty years had he been late without calling ahead. The world could change shape. Their dead daughter could walk among them, and Brian Moore was still on time. "Are you home?"

Sandy came to the entry way, and stopped dead in her tracks. Brian was not alone. Beside him stood a very stern Dean Winchester. His dark look offered no forgiveness for the theft of his privacy.

"Sandy. We need to talk."

"Oh." Sandy wrung the towel in her hands. "Yes, I suppose we do. I should apologize-"

"Don't. You're not sorry, so don't go there." Dean pushed past Brian, entering the home without invitation. "I get it. You knew you weren't getting the whole story." He cast a glare at Brian. "So you went snooping. Don't do it again."

Sandy nodded, suddenly feeling like a small child who had narrowly escaped a spanking.

"This isn't about what you found out. This is about Jessica."

The word made her cold. My daughter was murdered by monster. Sandy set the towel aside. "Yes? What about her? Sam told me something the other day-"

"You knew what you were doing, didn't you?" Dean cut over her words. "You gave Sam all of Jessica's old things, and you hoped her ghost would go with him. Why?"

Sandy ran her fingers through her hair, collecting her thoughts. "It seemed like time. It wasn't doing either of us any good. It wasn't right for her to be here."

"How did you know?"

Sandy glanced at Brian. He was watching the interrogation carefully, ready to step in if he felt things got to far. His arm was tucked in a sling. Sandy frowned; that was new. There was something else going on here. "Just a feeling. I don't know. People should move on, shouldn't they? Why do you ask?"

"Ghosts can be dangerous."

Ah. Sandy glanced at the door, noting the absence of Sam. "Is Sam alright? Jessica would never-"

"Spirits don't always understand what is happening around them. Things get confused in the veil. Any spirit can be dangerous, even people we love." Dean's face softened for a moment. "Did she ever get angry, move things around, lock doors or throw objects around?"

"No. She was just, there, out of the corner of my eye. It took me a while to realize what it was. She didn't show herself very often, not fully. It was like she was waiting for something, but I never knew what. Until Sam arrived."

Dean's frown deepened. "Sam." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Alright." He dropped his gaze, releasing Sandy, and moved toward the door.

"Wait!" She called. "Sam said Jessica was murdered. Do you by who-by what?"

"It was a demon. It's dead." Dean turned and left, not bothering to close the door behind him. The night swallowed him, wrapping him in darkness.

Sandy reached for Brian, and he wrapped her in a warm hug. She could feel her tears soaking into his shirt, and his soaking into her hair.

000 Lakeport 000

"So you are an army wife." Sam nodded appreciatively at the picture in his hands; Jenna dressed in white next to a man in a blue uniform. "I didn't expect that."

Jenna smiled and ducked her head. "Neither did I, believe me. I love Tom, but the army life is hard. That's why I live here. Mom and Dad help a lot with the kids, especially at times like this. He'll be back in three months, hopefully." Jenna shrugged. "With the army, you never know. Things can change like that." She snapped her fingers.

"My dad was a marine, but he didn't talk about it much. He was only in for two years."

"Active, active duty, huh?" Jenna swirled the wine in her glass. They were perched on kitchen stools, as the living room was overrun by children and the sounds of Mary Poppins and Bert the Chimneysweep dancing across London's rooftops.

"He never talked about it much, but the things he knew, the things he taught us…" Sam trailed off, but Jenna just nodded. She knew.

Somehow, talk of Jessica had turned into talk of everyone they loved. Sharing life stories, and more. Sam sniffed at his own glass of wine. He'd never learned to like it much. Dean's aggressive attachment to cheap beer and fine whiskey had killed Sam's taste buds to all other forms of alcohol. He picked at the cookie in front of him. Jenna had a whole plate of them on stand-by.

It must be a Moore family tradition.

"These are exactly like the ones Jessica used to make." It felt strange, to eat them again. Sam hadn't tasted these cookies for twelve years. He'd thought they died with Jess.

He'd thought a lot of things had died with Jess, but he'd been wrong about that, too. There was so much of her still here. Real, solid things, not just the ghostly form that had been haunting him for the past 24-hours. Things that would survive once she moved on. Things that didn't need to be burned for her spirit to detach and finally reach heaven. Things that could stay alive, even take on a life of their own. Like cookies.

"My mom taught us how to cook. Jessie already knows this recipe by heart." Jenna paused. "I can write it down for you."

"I don't really cook."

"I can teach you." Jenna grinned, eyes alight with a challenge. One that was sure to be embarrassing for Sam somewhere along the line. In short, her favorite kind.

"I'll pass, thanks." It was eerily like a conversation he had had with Jessica, when she had been packing for a long weekend away and Sam had been moping that there would be no real food in the house while she was gone.

That lesson hadn't gone far before it evolved into something more pleasant. Sam had no doubt that a lesson with Jenna would be equally as useless for real cooking, but would devolve in a more unpleasant direction. Jenna had always taken special pleasure in making Sam feel uncomfortable. She was a lot like Dean that way.

Jenna picked up a different picture; her and Jessica as children, hanging from the monkey bars, identical smiles on their faces. "She loved you. There was never another guy like you; one that she brought home and paraded around town. She was different with you, Sam. I think I kind of hated you for that, at first."

Sam's mouth quirked in a half-smile. All the torment, boiled down to simple jealousy. "I thought you thought I was a freak."

"Oh, you were. Still are." Jenna's tone was fond. She frowned at Sam's still-full wine glass, and pulled a beer out of the fridge. "Here. It's old, Tom left it, last time he was home."

Sam popped the top and took a long drink of the bitter brew. "Thanks

"I still miss her, you know." Jenna poured herself more wine. "She was supposed to be here to do these things with me. I didn't have any bridesmaids at my wedding. I didn't know what to do, you know? Because Jessica was supposed to be one of them. She was supposed to try to stop my bachelorette from getting too out of control. She was supposed to help me decorate my first house. You guys were supposed to have kids first, and work out all kinks so I'd have a smoother time of it."

"Yeah, but you would have paid for it with a lot of free babysitting," Sam said.

"She would have loved my kids, and I wanted to meet hers." Jenna sighed and leaned back against the counter. "I would have even gotten used to you, Sam Winchester. Ga!" She shivered. "And that horrible mouthful of a last name."

"What's wrong with my name?" Sam had never had any complaints before.

"Just-it sounds like you should own a gun shop or something." Jenna cocked her head, frowning. "What's that? That's not the movie."

The voice coming from the living room no longer belonged to Julie Andrews. Jenna marched across the kitchen and rounded the corner to the living room. Sam reached out a hand to stop her, but what was the point? He fingered the ring in his pocket. It was ice-cold.

"Jessica," Jenna breathed, staring.

Sam stood up to look over her shoulder. Jessica was sitting on the couch, reading from a picture book, the children crowded around her.

"Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere."

Jenna spun to put her back to the living room and dropped her head into her hand, staring at the wine glass dangling from her fingers. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Sam." Jenna took a deep breath, set the wine glass aside, and turned back to the living room. Jessica's place on the couch was empty. Jenna clapped her hands together and the tone of her voice changed.

"Alright, kids, time for bed."

"But Mo-om!" Jessie whined.

"I wanna finish the book!" Abbi cried.

"Teddy!" Tyler shouted.

"Bed," Jenna said firmly. She scooped up the youngest, and pointed meaningfully at the stairs. The children trailed after her, whining all the way.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Jessica's presence was cold on Sam's shoulder as she tucked her chin into the groove below his neck and planted a kiss there. "We would have made beautiful children."

"And you would have been a wonderful aunt." Sam reached out to brush a hand over Jessica's hair. His fingers passed through it; a trick of the light, nothing more. "Jess, why are you here? What are you waiting for?"

She put a hand on his chest, ignoring the unhappy wails from too-tired children that echoed down the stairs. "I waited for you, Sam. I waited for us."

"But we can't have this." Sam gestured at the home around them, the wedding pictures on the wall and the children's toys scattered across the floor. "You-you died, Jess. Do you remember? Do you realize? I came back and you were-"

"Stuck. Bleeding. Burning." Jessica's tone was flat. Frost crawled across the windows. Yellow flames danced across Jessica's image, and the chill burned. "I saw you. I tried to scream. You didn't hear me."

A child's wailing punctuated the silence, followed by Jenna's voice, soothing and irritated at the same time. Bedtime was not going well.

Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I would have done anything to save you, Jess. Anything. But I can't change what happened. Nothing can change what happened. You have a place waiting for you in heaven. All your best memories. It's peaceful there, happy."

"But you're not there, Sam." The burning cold pierced Sam's heart. No. He wouldn't be there. Nor would her sister, her parents or any of her friends. Dying young meant entering heaven alone. Jessica had never liked to be alone much.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Jenna's voice overruled the unhappy shrieking upstairs. "I can't get your Teddy!"

"Teddy!" Tyler's scream was as piercing as any banshee cry. Jessica flickered, and was gone. Jenna stomped down the stairs, rifling through her wallet and muttering all the way.

"All day, every day, he's been screaming for that thing all week. Dad won't go get it. Dad won't let me go get it. It's a twenty minute drive, it's not hard. I haven't slept through the night. He'll be up in two hours, and I'm done."

"What are you talking about?" Sam felt his entire posture shift. Danger was closing in, but he couldn't tell yet from where.

"I'm sorry, Sam. We're done. I'm going to the lake, I'm going to get Tyler's Teddy, and then I'm going to bed. Ahah!" Jenna pulled a twenty from her wallet and marched out the front door.

"The lake?" Sam trailed after her, heart thumping. "No. You can't go to the lake!"

Jenna rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Sam. I heard on the news they closed the lake. No one on the water, something about a parasite or something. But I won't go on the water. I will park the car in the garage, go into the house, get the teddy, and leave again. No danger. Not even from a bobcat or whatever else Dad thinks is running loose up there."

"People have died up there, Jenna. Can't it wait?"

Jenna turned to Sam. Her eyes were red and she was blinking furiously. "No. It can't. And it's really none of your business!" She turned, let out a whistle, and dangled the twenty over the fence into the neighbor's yard. "Casey!"

"Yes, Mrs. Martin?" A teenage girl appeared out of nowhere, eyes fixed on the twenty dangling from Jenna's fingers. "You need a babysitter?"

"Yes, I'm running a quick errand. Be back in an hour. The kids are to stay in their pajamas, no sweets, but they can watch anything that might put them to sleep. Try putting on CSPAN or something. There'll be a bonus when I get back if they're in their beds and out cold."

Casey grinned and snatched the twenty. "Yes, ma'am!" She hopped the fence and darted into the house.

Jenna closed her wallet and marched toward her car.

"Jenna, please! Wait. You don't understand." Sam reached for her, but she was beyond his reach. Briefly, Sam wished Dean were here. He was better at this sort of thing. Jenna had always been immune to Sam's soft-spoken tactics, but Dean would know just how to charm her, or order her, into cooperating.

"Understand what? Look, Sam, if you're so worried, you can come with me."

"Done." Sam moved to the other side of the car and slipped into the passenger seat before she could change her mind.

Jenna paused for a moment, sizing him up. "You're still the weirdest guy I've ever met, Winchester."

 _You have no idea_. Sam gripped the car door tightly, because he couldn't pull out his gun. Not yet. But he could feel the cold metal pressing into his back all the way to the lake.

 **NOTE: My fingers always seem to type faster when we get closer to the main action/drama sequence. More to come soon! Please review!**


	12. Need to Breathe

**Chapter 12: Need to Breathe**

 _Winchesters_.

They had acted like teenagers caught at a bad prank when she'd first met them. No matter that they'd left high school behind long ago. Jody couldn't think of Winchesters without seeing two boys squirming in a diner booth while Bobby Singer fumbled for words on the other end of the line.

Winchesters.

They had saved her life. When the impossible happened, Sam had appeared out of the night, strong and sure of himself. He had handled the most terrible event in her life with calm ease. At least, that was how it appeared to her. She knew it had felt far different for him.

Winchesters.

They kept coming back. Always at Bobby's, and after Bobby passed, always willing to answer her call. They came running whenever she asked. And she came running whenever Sam called. Always Sam. She was a mother, first and always, and he was motherless. She just couldn't say no to those big brown eyes.

Claire, on the other had, tested her patience at every turn. Claire saw danger everywhere, but she also saw promise. She saw the work to be done to fix it, and plunged in assuming that the best could happen.

 _How does she think I can help with this one_? Jody didn't know. But she picked up the phone and made the call.

"Jody?" Sam's voice echoed through the phone. He sounded distracted and sullen. "Look, this isn't the best time…"

"When is a good time?" Jody asked. For Winchesters, it was always the end of the world. "Are you doing ok?"

"Who told you I wasn't? Did Dean put you up to this?" His voice sounded suspicious. So, Claire was right. There was a problem, and now Sam knew that Jody knew.

"Claire."

"Huh." Sam paused, surprised. Clair was good at cultivating her I-don't-care-about-anything mask. But it was only a mask, Jody had figure that out within the first week. "That's-"

"It must be pretty bad, if Claire felt she needed to call me." Because like the Winchesters, and Claire liked to stay away from the touchy-feely conversations. Jody summoned her Mom-voice. "So. Spill."

She didn't need to tell him what they were talking about, and he didn't have to ask. Jody might not have the whole history about this ghost that haunted Sam, but she'd heard enough.

Sam's response was slow, careful. As if he really was trying to give a truthful answer. Because Winchesters had a way of lying without meaning to, of lying to themselves while they lied to everyone else. But Sam's next words weren't a lie. "I-I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Ok. How is that any different than usual?"

"What?"

"Well, you never know what you're getting into, right? You two always figure things out as you go. So what's different here?" A good dose of practicality on an emotional minefield acted similarly to a cold shower, as far as Jody could tell.

"I know what's going on. There's nothing to figure out." _My girlfriend is a ghost_. He didn't say it out loud, but it was there in the short pause of breath. "It's just…complicated."

Which was code for; it hurts in a place I can't but a band-aid on.

"Oh?" There were soothing words she could say, comforting words, understanding words to make him feel better. But that would only prolong the problem. "When is it ever really complicated, Sam? Either the monster eats people and has to be killed, or it doesn't eat people, so you don't kill it. Either you have something the ghost is attached to that you can salt and burn, or you find another way to neutralize her. Right? I mean, is it ever ok for a ghost to stick around?"

That was rhetorical. Jody knew the answer, and so did Sam. She let the silence stretch, until Sam let out a long breath. "Never. It's never good. I just-"

"You what? I know how much I wanted to believe that my Owen was back for real. Hell, Bobby did the same with his wife, and he knew better. Do you remember how you found us?"

"Jody, it's not-"

"This ends one of two ways, right? Either you salt and burn her now. Or someone will have to do it for you later. Because someone else got hurt."

"Would you have been able to shoot Owen?"

"No. But that's what we have friends for, right?" Jody's tone softened. "Do you want me to call Claire?"

"No, that's alright. Dean can handle it." Dean would be happy to handle it.

"Right. Well, you be careful. Ok?"

"Ok."

Jody ended the call and lowered the phone.

Winchesters.

000 Lakeport 000

Sam placed his phone back in his pocket and reached his hand into his pocket. The ring was cold as he turned it between his fingers. Dean. Claire. Jody. Everyone seemed to think he should burn it and send Jessica away. Sam himself had said the same thing when Bobby's ghost was haunting them.

It needs to be done.

Later.

Sam turned over his shoulder to contemplate the back-seat of Jenna's family-sized SUV. Jess was sitting in the back seat, playing with her hair and looking bored. She'd been there the entire drive, staring at them through the rear-view mirror. There was no doubt Jenna could see her. All of the blood had drained from her face. She kept shaking her head and muttering to herself. Finally, she had tipped the mirror in a different direction, rendering it useless but getting rid of the strange image that simply couldn't be there.

She refused to believe, to even consider the idea. Sam had seen it before. People explained away any number of strange things. They chalked it up to stress, adrenaline, nightmares. And Jenna was very stressed. She whipped into the home, leaving the door to the garage open behind her, and was now crashing around the house, throwing cabinets open, searching high and low for Teddy.

 _Crash_! Sam didn't know which household object had offended her this time, it sounded metal and vaguely pan-like.

"Come on! Tyler is two feet tall. I've looked everywhere within-what are you doing up there?" Jenna let out a laugh, and pranced back to the garage, waving a fluffy bear in one hand. "Found him!"

Sam's eyebrows raised. "Where was it?"

"In the dryer. I should have known. Tyler loves laundry day."

"Alright. Let's get out of here." Sam pulled the driver's door open for her.

"I couldn't agree more." Jenna slapped the button to open the garage doors.

A high-pitched scream ripped through the night. It was shrill, child-like, and filled with fear. Jenna gasped and dashed toward the opening door. Sam hooked an arm around her waist.

"Jenna! No!"

"Did you hear that?" They stood on the threshold, Jenna straining forward, Sam leaning back. Both of them searched the darkness. The moon illuminated a wide lawn of soft grass that sloped down to the water and a short pier. The waves rippled, and something dark slid along the surface of the lake.

"Yes, I heard it. Look, get in the car, and we'll call the Sheriff's department."

"It sounded like a child." Jenna strained against Sam's arm.

"Sometimes kids scream when their having fun. You know? They get to playing and-"

"I know the difference between an I'm-having-fun don't-let-my-sister-tickle-me scream, and a real scream, Sam. Try having kids for eight years. That sound like someone who is hurt."

It came again, this time in the shape of a word. "Mommy!"

"Jessie!" Jenna gasped. She wriggled to break free of Sam's grasp. "That's my daughter!"

"No, it isn't." Sam added both arms to the struggle. Jenna was trained in martial arts, but he had a hundred pounds on her, and years of practical experience. His arms were like an iron safety net. She wasn't going anywhere tonight.

"Mommy! Help me!" Now splashing sounds slapped against the dock. There was a small figure out there; a child. She thrashed pale arms in the water, and her blonde hair gleamed in the moonlight, revealing bits of seaweed caught in her tangled mane.

"Jessie!" Jenna clawed at Sam's arms and beat at his chest. "We have to help her!" "That's not your daughter. Think about it!" Sam kept his grip firm. "We drove out here alone. She's safe at home with the babysitter."

"She's stowed away in the backseat before," Jenna hissed at him. "She could have been hiding and slipped out while I was in the house."

"I would have seen her," Sam said. But Jenna could read the lie on his face.

"Oh? When? When you chatting on the phone?"

"Help!" The scream was louder this time, more desperate. Then, the figure vanished under the water. The sudden silence was louder than any scream.

"No!"

Jenna grabbed Sam's arms and twisted. He didn't know how it happened. One minute he had her tight in an unbreakable grip, the next Jenna was free and running toward the dock. "I'm coming sweetie!"

Sam sucked in a deep breath; she'd knocked all the air from his lungs and stomped his toes in one smooth motion. A sharp pain raced up his leg; something in his foot felt broken. Every step felt like jumping on a nail, but it didn't matter. Sam pumped his long legs, desperate to catch up before Jenna made it to the water.

Jenna didn't slow as she neared the shore. The pelted across the dock, flicked her flip-flops away between steps, and dived. There was a small splash, and she was gone.

Sam halted on the edge of the dock, gun out, staring into the water. He could see nothing through the moonlight that danced off the waves. Then, the surface exploded with motion.

"Gaaah!" Jenna surged toward the air, gasping as soon as she broke the surface. Her hands clawed at the dock. Sam reached out to catch her. For a moment, their hands locked. His muscled bulged as he pulled with every ounce of strength he possessed in his lean, corded muscles. Legs, back, arms, every bit of him bent into the task, but it wasn't enough. He held her for a moment, and then she was wrenched from his grip. She slid under the surface with a scream that turned to a gurgle as the water covered her mouth.

Sam didn't waste any breath shouting at the water. He sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold and dived.

The water closed around him like molasses, slowing his movements. Sam pushed forward, cutting through it with a neat breast stroke that drove him deeper, deeper. The light was flickering, always moving as the surface above rippled. Shadows flickered and Sam tired to sort their meaning. The sturdy legs of the dock. The butt of a boat. There! A thrashing figure sped backwards toward a black, horse-shaped shadow with glowing yellow eyes.

Sam reached and caught hold of Jenna's hand again. She held on so tight her fingers were white. He pulled, but it didn't help. He was only dragged along with her, both of them towed through the sand and silt at the bottom of the lake, further from shore, further from air. Jenna's grasp on Sam's hand weakened. He held tighter and pulled her body closer to his. Bubbles escaped her mouth and her eyes flickered, fighting unconsciousness. The air in Sam's lungs burned to escape, and he felt a searing ache in his head. They had another minute, no more.

The kelpie surged forward, open maw full of jagged teeth. The celtic knot on Jenna's heel glowed red in response, and their speed increased. The mouth drew closer, large enough to take half the leg in one bite.

Sam used Jenna's shoulders for leverage and kicked downward at the monster. His foot landed squarely in the center of those teeth and they ripped through his jeans, boots, and flesh. Sam bit back a scream, desperately holding in what little air he had left. The kelpie pulled back, bunching its body for another attack.

The world was turning black around the edges, and Sam felt the muscles in his chest loosen against his will. His limbs were getting heavy, he couldn't feel his hands anymore.

A surge of light burst through his vision. Jessica was between them, glowing with a bright white light. The kelpie reared back, its shrill scream echoing through the water. Jessica spread her arms wide, gathering energy to her. Sam could feel the force build around them, a wall of water that stopped their downward plunge. The kelpie turned and sped toward them again, and Jessica pushed her hands out like a shield. All of her telekinetic force slammed into the kelpie. It spun head over tail into the murk.

Sam had no control over his body anymore. He could feel his lungs filling with water. His aching foot had gone numb, his limbs no longer felt connected to the rest of him. He blinked at Jessica. She reached for him.

The next thing Sam knew, air surrounded him, firm ground pressed into his skin, and his lungs heaved to expel the last bit of water.

"Gaaah!" Sam coughed, breathed, and coughed again. He flopped onto the rocks, never minding that they dug into him with sharp edges. For a moment he just breathed and enjoyed the sensation of being in charge of his own body again.

A burning pain laced up his leg. Sam followed it down with his eyes and saw a puddle of blood forming around his foot. The leg was a mess of fabric, meat, and blood. His flesh had been shredded as neatly as if he'd stuck his foot in a meat grinder. One jagged tooth was lodged in the remains of his boot, tangible proof of the monster that lurked in the water.

There was no use bothering to stand up. That leg wasn't going to take him anywhere right now.

"Jenna?" Sam called, scanning the shore. Another figure lay next to him, limp and still. Too still.

Sam crawled with his elbows to Jenna's side. He rolled her over on her back. She wasn't breathing.

No!

Sam rose to his knees, placed both hands together in proper CPR form, and pushed on her chest once, twice, three times. She coughed feebly and Sam turned her on her side and thumped her back. He bent down, wrapped his lips around hers, and breathed into her mouth. Push, breath. Push, breath. Sam kept up the steady rhythm until he felt her chest move gently beneath his hands on his own accord.

Yes!

"Jenna?" Sam brushed wet strands of hair out of her face. "Jenna?" Her chest continued to rise and fall, but she didn't move, not even to flutter an eyelid. Sam wrapped his hand around hers. "Don't worry. We'll get help. Dean's bound to try to check in soon. When I don't answer, he'll send someone to look for us. You'll see. Help will be here in no time."

Sam looked up to take stock of where they were. This shore was unfamiliar to him. The silhouette of the Moore's lake house and their small dock was nowhere in sight. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Water spilled from the cracks and none of the buttons responded to his touch. He tested his foot, but stopped before he'd even put half his weight on the leg. There wasn't enough muscle left intact to carry him anywhere, much less hauling Jenna's unconscious form.

Sam looked up at the glowing moon, and frowned. The light that bathed the shore did not come from above. It came from behind. He turned to stare at Jessica, standing on the rocks in a white dress, glowing softly.

"Sam."

"Jess," he breathed. "You saved us."

She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his cheek. "I love you." She turned and rested the hand on her sister's shoulder. "I miss you."

"Jess." Sam called her attention back to him. "Please. We need help. Jenna's hurt, so am I. We don't have any way to call for help. Can you?"

Jessica tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed. Did she even understand? She bent forward to kiss him, then stood and walked toward the shore. Sam leaned back, his lips tingling, his limbs heavy.

 _Please, Jessica, find help._

 _Please, Dean, please come soon._

 _Please, Jenna, please be ok._

None of them could hear his silent prayers, but there was someone who could.

 _Please, Castiel, If you're listening, call Dean and tell him I need help_.

 **NOTE: Will Jenna be ok? Can Jessica find help? Will Cass hear Sam? What is Dean up to? More coming soon. Please review!**


	13. Follow the Light

**Chapter 13: Follow the Light**

Cleaning the guns. It had been Dean's job since he was ten. He remembered Dad placing the brush in his hands and telling him the importance of having a clean gun. He remembered learning how to check every piece, pulling them apart and re-assembling them like a steel jigsaw puzzle. It was second nature to pull apart the pieces, check for dust and residue, and wipe it all smooth with oil.

There had never been more than a dozen firearms to handle in one sitting. A shotgun for each of them, a handgun, maybe a sniper rifle. Now, Dean was staring at an entire room full of firearms. Handguns, shotguns, they lined the walls like pool cues. And every one of them needed cleaning.

To be fair, Lake County Sheriff's Dept didn't need to use them very often. Dean had been witness to the last weapons discharge by law enforcement twelve years ago. The only use these weapons saw was on the firing range.

"I should have brought my oil and my brush," Guster said. "How did you get us in here again?" He pulled a clip out of a handgun and replaced it with a clip of iron rounds.

"We're FBI!" Claire said, checking a shotgun.

""I'm FBI. You're an intern," Dean told her sternly. "And don't forget it. One crack in that cover story-"

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I got it. Still, I'm getting one of those Ids for myself before I leave."

"Graduate college, spend a year or two in the corps, and you'll get into Quantico no problem," Guster said.

"Yeah, college." Claire dropped her gaze to the row of shotguns and continued installing engraved rounds. "Isn't someone going to get suspicious? I mean, checking to see if they have enough firepower for your plan doesn't take this long."

"Well, I couldn't tell them we're replacing all their ammunition, could I? Don't worry, the Sheriff's on my side."

"Yeah, how did you do that, anyway?" Claire asked.

"I bought him a beer."

Claire frowned, but Guster just nodded approvingly. Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket. Castiel.

"Dean, are you alright?" Cas didn't bother with a greeting. His gravely voice was tense with urgency.

Dean replaced the shotgun on the wall to give his full attention to this conversation. He had long ago learned the difference between Castiel's annoyed voice, and his worried tone. "I'm fine Cas. What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong with me, something is wrong with Sam. I heard him praying for help, and now he won't answer his phone."

Dean didn't need to hear anything else. He knew exactly what had happened.

"Damn!" Dean swore. "Cas, I gotta go. I gotta call Sam. I got a good idea of where he might be."

"I would help if I could, but I'm in Tennessee. It would take days…"

"Yeah, Cas, problem. Thanks for the message." Dean swiped his fingers across the screen, ending one call and starting another. The phone rang until it went to voicemail.

"Problem?" Guster asked.

"Sammy." Dean's voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. "I think Sammy may have run into some trouble. I need to go. You two get this finished." He gestured to the weapons locker. They were about halfway done.

Guster nodded. "Yes, sir." The words were short, curt, and reliable. Dean had no doubt the ex-marine would get the job done.

Because Dean had a different job to do. One that was always more important than the hunt; he had to find his brother.

000 Lakeport 000

It was past midnight and the lake was dark. Clouds had rolled over the moon, blotting out any light that might help with the search. Lights dotted the water, yellow, artificial beams cutting through the darkness. They stretched across the water, vanishing into the distance, illuminating nothing but empty space.

It had started with a phone call. Dean's voice, short and without preamble, demanding to know where Jenna would go. Brian had placed a call to Jenna's home to wake the babysitter, who had little insight to offer, but felt strongly that she had earned far more than twenty dollars at this late hour. Sandy had gone to relieve Casey, and Brian had discovered just how fast the Impala could move with Dean at the wheel. The engine roared and gravel scattered in the wake of the tires as they hit the drive.

The lake house was dark, the garage door open, Jenna's SUV sitting empty inside.

They searched. They shouted. They waded into the water and went as deep into the underbrush as they dared. It didn't take long. There was nothing to see, nothing to find, and no one to hear.

Brian had to admit he was impressed by Sheriff Mann's response time. In less than half an hour, his entire search and rescue team was on the water. The fleet waited at the boat launch, over fifty men and women armed with depth charges, search lights, and first-aid gear.

Depth charges. It was a strange request, and Brian had expected a fight. But the sheriff just nodded and said he had everything ready.

A helicopter settled on the road. Sheriff Mann gestured to Dean. "You're in charge, Winchester. Best way to coordinate the team is from the sky." He handed Dean a radio.

Dean's face turned a sickly shade of green at the sight of the helicopter, and he shook his head. "No, no Sheriff, I leave that task in your capable hands. Keep them moving across the water, don't let anything through the line. We're driving anything larger than a cat toward that point." He pointed across the lake.

"Yes, sir." Mann turned to Brian. He held out a hand, as if offering to shake or thinking about clapping him on the shoulder, then dropped his hand back to his side. "Don't worry, sir. We'll find her."

Brian just nodded. He didn't have words anymore. His worst nightmare had come true, and it felt like the darkness had swallowed the entire world. When the helicopter left the ground, Brian turned to Dean.

"I know how this helps us find the monster, but how does it help us find my daughter?"

"Because if the kelpie attacked Sam and Jenna, I'm hoping it was somewhere near it's lair. The searchlights will sweep the shore as we cross the water. It's the best chance we have, without sending people around the shore on foot.

A task which Brian knew from experience could take days. Search the water would take hours as it was.

 _Daddy_. It wasn't a word, but rather the ghost of one, slithering over his ears. Light flickered at the edge of his vision, but when he turned to see where it came from, there was nothing there.

"Come on." Dean's gentle pressure on his arm guided him toward the lead boat. The whirr of motors rose around him, and the boats moved forward. The first charges were dropped with a series of bangs that rattled the night. No one spoke except to give commands. Every five minutes a new set of charges dropped. Dean leaned forward on the prow of the boat, as if willing it to move faster. But he didn't say a word. This work was slow and careful, there was no other way to do it properly.

 _Daddy_.

"What?" Brian turned to Dean, who frowned and shook his head. Brian turned to the crew of their small boat, but they were focused on preparing the next round of charges.

"This isn't how you search for a missing person," one of the team muttered. She caught Brian's gaze, clamped her lips shut, and dropped her eyes to her work.

"Trust me," Dean said, his sharp ears missing nothing. "We need to do this."

Brian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Am I doing the right thing?_

Light flooded his vision. Brian touched his eyelids. They were still closed.

 _Daddy. I need you_. The voice was insistent, familiar.

"Jessica."

"What?" Dean was instantly beside him.

"I heard Jessica," Brian said. He shook his head and rubbed at his ear, as if it were a faulty TV that needed to be smacked to be made to work properly again.

"What did she say?" Dean asked.

"She just called to me, that's all. She just-" Brian stared at the mist that was his own breath, suddenly foggy in the chill night. His eyes moved beyond that to the bright light that hovered over the water. And in the light was a figure that made his heart ache with hope and fear at the same time. Jessica reached out to him.

 _Daddy. I need you. Come_.

"Where?" Brian asked.

"What?" Dean demanded. He stared at the darkness. "What do you see?"

"She's calling us that way." Brian pointed toward the southern shore.

"We're breaking away from the formation," Dean barked into the radio. "Everyone else keep moving forward, stick to the plan. I need an emergency medical team to follow me." Dean turned to the man steering the boat. "That way, now. Follow the Mayor's directions."

"Sir?" The pilot looked to Brian.

Brian pointed toward the southern shore. "That way." He leaned forward. The shore was miles away, and there was miles of it. "Come on, Jessica. Where are you?" He whispered.

A light gleamed in the night. A small glimmer at first that slowly flared to a blazing pillar.

"There!" Dean pointed. He could see it this time, too. "Follow that light."

"Jessica." A warmth settled deep in his chest. Whatever they found on the far shore, his daughter had come to him. Death had not separated them completely. "I'm coming, sweetheart. Daddy's coming."

000 Lakeport 000

Claire hated the dark. Anything could hide in the dark, unable to be seen. Anything could happen in the dark. She never knew what was in front of her, or behind. Sound took on a different quality, and sight didn't help as much as it should. The dark shifted the boundaries of the world, making it smaller. All of her sense were on full alert, and hear heart hammered a steady beat that thrummed through her, waiting for action. She could feel the adrenaline threaded through every moment, heightening her senses and turning the air sharp.

Claire loved the dark. It was an addiction, a thrill and a fear inextricably coupled. Her best work was always done in the dark. There was an energy in the night that drove her. Dark was where monsters lived, so dark was where she hunted. It was where the worst horrors happened, and where her best work was done.

The energy thrummed beneath her now, or maybe that was just the boat's engine. Guster steered them in a zig-zag pattern across the water, well ahead of the team sweeping the lake. They hid out of range of the search beams, eyes on the waves, watching. Each had a shotgun and handgun loaded with iron. Guster had a machete at his feet, Claire had the Grigori sword. A net lay rolled in the bottom of the boat, next to a cattle prod. They hunted big game tonight.

"What is he doing?" Claire watched as one boat, the lead boat, _Dean_ 's boat, broke away from the formation and headed off on its own.

Guster put his radio down. "He thinks he's found Sam and Jenna. We're to keep to the plan."

 _Winchesters_.

First, Sam ran off and got himself lost. Then, Dean abandoned the hunt, too. It was her, her gun, and one ex-marine. Ok, and a team of fifty search and rescue personnel, but she wasn't going to count on any of them to help chop heads. She kept her eyes fixed on the water and her gun ready.

Two hours later, Claire was itching at the sides of her night-vision goggles. Her hand ached from holding her gun ready. She looked ahead, water. She looked behind, more water, search lights, and the continual muffled boom of depth-charges going off under the water. She looked to Guster.

"How big is this lake, anyway?"

"About 69 square miles. We should be hitting the final shore soon. Best get ready." Guster finally leaned down and picked up his gun. He hadn't bothered to touch any of his weapons up 'til now.

Clearly, he didn't expect to have trouble until they had the kelpie cornered. Which it would be, as soon as it ran out of water. Claire shifted and tightened her grip on her weapon. "I've been ready."

Guster chuckled. "I told you to relax. Oh, there it is."

The shore reared out of the night, a line of trees sloping toward the water. Guster drove straight to the shore, beached the boat, and gesture to Claire to get out. "We'll have a better shot if we're ahead of it, and on solid footing."

Claire found a large boulder, half her height, and ducked behind it as a shield. Guster settled behind a fallen log, propping his gun on the half-rotten bark. They waited. Depth charges sounded again, and the search lights moved closer. There was barely a hundred yards of open water left. Guster raised the radio to his mouth.

"We're in position. Fire everything you've got at the water."

The response was a series of sharp bangs, one after the other, like marbles spilling out of their container only ten times as loud. Iron and rounds engraved with celtic warding sliced through the water. The search team didn't know they fired anything but plain old steel, but the kelpie could feel it in the water. A line of depth charges went off at the same time, growling at the night. There was only one escape route.

The surface of the lake boiled. A long, black _thing_ emerged, hissing and howling. It slithered onto shore, wobbly on legs shaped for swimming. Yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight.

"Wait," Guster said, his voice calm and steady. "Wait, wait."

Claire watched, trying to see what the marine was looking for, what made one moment a better shot than the next.

The kelpie raised its nose, sniffing the air, and looked up toward the stars. Its neck was exposed, its chest unprotected.

"Now!" Guster opened fire and Claire followed suit. She shot, aimed, and fired again. The creature shrieked and bucked as the bullets hit its skin. Steam poured from the wounds. The creature pulled back, toward the water, howling. A searchlight beam landed on it, refracting off the scaly hide. It squirmed and hissed, wobbling toward the water, then away.

Claire lunged from behind the boulder, sword in hand. She swung it high and hard. Guster closed in beside her, machete raised. They danced between flailing limbs. Guster swung, and missed. Claire lunged, and lodged the angel sword deep in the kelpie's chest. The monster's entire body shivered and glowed, crackling as if caught in an electric current. It let out one last howl, and collapsed, motionless. Guster charged forward and whacked off the head for good measure, but the kelpie was already dead.

Guster wiped blood from his face and grinned, as if he'd just come off of a roller-coaster ride. "Time for a bonfire."

"Yeah." Claire looked down at her watch, and then up at the line of boats advancing toward them. She could see the questions starting already, and she didn't have any answers.

"Where the hell did Dean go?"

000 Lakeport 000

She stood on the shoreline, her bare feet un-harmed by the sharp rocks that dotted the mud. Her entire figure glowed, and her white dress swirled around her, blown by a wind no one else could feel. She was a human-shaped lighthouse guiding them to shore.

Behind him, Dean could hear the crew in the boat staring. It wasn't every day ordinary folk found themselves faced with the impossible, without the option to explain things away. They should have been rushing forward, jumping over the edge, searching the small patch of rocky mud for the missing. But instead that sat, frozen in surprise, awe, wonder, whatever you wanted to call it, and stared.

"What is that?"

"Who is that?"

"You don't recognize her?"

"Mr. Mayor, sir? What's happening?"

The nose of the boat nudged the shore, but no jumped out to pull it to forward. They waited, statues in a mausoleum, for permission from the white guardian before them. Except Brian. His feet hit the water with a splash, he grabbed the prow, and hauled the small boat closer to land.

Jessica moved away from them, toward a pair of lumpy figures sprawled in the mud. Dean could smell the blood before his feet touched land. His feet felt tipsy as soon as they left the boat, but that didn't slow Dean. He staggered toward his brother. Beside him, Brian rushed past, calling for his daughter. Their voices harmonized in the night, separate tones of identical worry.

"Jenna!"

"Sam!"

No matter how often it happened, the panic and pain of potential loss felt the same. It threatened to split his heart in half, rip the world apart, swallow him in the ground. Dean's face showed none of it. Features set in a stern mask, he dropped to his knees next to the larger, longer body. He touched the pale face, one cheek lying in the mud. Still warm, still breathing.

Only then did he breathe.

Sam twitched and his eyes flickered. "Dean?" His voice was blurry, confused. "Dean, we need-"

"You need a doctor, man." Dean's eyes traveled down Sam's body, looking for the damage. There had to be damage. Otherwise, Sam would have hauled himself and Jenna to the nearest phone hours ago.

 _There_. Dean found the blood, the ripped flesh revealing white bone, and closed his eyes. His stomach heaved, but he swallowed the bile and dripped his brother's shoulder tight. "Aw, Sammy. What, does your foot have a death wish? That's twice in three months."

"Huh?" Sam lifted his head to follow Dean's gaze. "No…no, that's not…Jenna." His words were fragmented bits of thoughts, as if whole sentences couldn't quite make it past his lips. He'd lost a lot of blood.

"Jenna won't wake up." Sam still held her hand in his, curled protectively against his chest. Tears trickled down his face. "I failed."

Dean watched silently as Brian bent over Jenna, calling her name softly, rubbing her cheek, checking her body for injuries. She didn't respond to his touch or his voice, not even to twitch in pain when his hands landed on an angry red cut near her ankle.

 _Not good_.

"She's alive, Sammy. You kept that kelpie from make her his next to-go meal." _With your foot, little brother. We're going to have talk about that later._ "You saved her."

"No. I was too late." Sam wasn't looking at his brother anymore. Dean glanced to his side. Jessica knelt there, bending low. She placed her hand on Sam's chest.

"I was too late. I'm so sorry," Sam said. He sounded small, young, pained.

"We don't know anything yet." Dean cut through Sam's soft apology with his sternest tone. If he could order Sam to feel better, he would. But all he could say was, "We have to get you both to the hospital."

Dean turned, searching for the medical team. They ought to have swarmed over the injured pair by now, shoving him aside to stick their instruments on Sam and determine the extent of the damage. Instead, they hung back by the boat, wide-eyed and scared.

"Well, what are you here for?" Dean demanded. He motioned them forward and stepped away to give them space. They edged around Jessica, unwilling to get too close.

Dean growled, but stepped back further. Jessica followed him, and the medical team closed in on the injured pair. They barked medical jargon at each other, music to Dean's ears. He turned to Jessica. She watched him silently, and he gave her a slow nod.

If Sam had burned that box when Dean first wanted him to, he and Jenna might both be dead.

"Thank you."

Jessica just smiled, and then she was gone, leaving the rocky shore in darkness.

 **Note:** Please review. I love to hear from you.


	14. Sisters

**Chapter 14: Sisters**

The night crawled toward morning. The sun was close. Dean could smell it in the air, something about how the moisture settled, bracing for daylight's heat. They had a few hours of darkness left, no more. Technically, this day had ended hours ago, but Dean had never care about technicality. This day wasn't over until one last task was complete, and he was finally able to close his eyes in sleep.

The sound of chopping filled his ears. The search and rescue team was working in the underbrush, gathering wood for a bonfire on the beach. They cast sideways glances at Dean as he walked past. They were full of questions, but didn't dare approach to ask. Dean knew he looked terrible, his clothing caked in mud and blood, an "I'll-kill-anything" look on his face. He wanted to kill something, but death had already come tonight, and he had been elsewhere.

He stopped by the corpse, a black mountain of flesh that still hissed and shifted every so often. Claire sidled away from it. "It keeps doing that."

"Yeah, dead bodies will." Dean had seen enough of them to know. They twitched, they moaned, they squished and gurgled hours after they had been killed. Sam had once researched the reason why. It worked something like a deflating balloon.

It still made Dean's skin crawl, even after all these years, but he wasn't about to tell Claire that. He glared at the corpse, wishing he could have been there for the fight. His muscled bulged with longing, his fists clenched. After all the trouble this thing had caused, after what it had done to Sam, to Jenna…

His little brother was in surgery now, and Dean knew he should be there at the hospital. Not that he could do anything more than pace the floor and terrorize innocent nurses. But he needed to see this, needed to see the corpse, needed to see the fire, needed to know that it was done.

They faced danger so often, and Dean had nearly lost his brother more times that he cared to admit. But he was usually there for the kill. This time, he'd been in a helicopter, a tube pumping blood from his arm to Sammy's, while Claire took down the biggest critter Dean had seen to date.

From the sound of it, there hadn't been much of a fight. But then, that's what happened when you had a small army on your side. A hundred guns instead of two. The search and rescue team continued to bring wood to Guster, but only he approached the corpse. Occasionally, a curious flashlight beam landed on a leg or a claw, but no one came near enough to touch it.

Claire had told them that the skin was toxic, and they had to have special training to touch it. She and Guster had put on rubber gloves and everything. She was a good liar; a skill that would serve her well in the hunting life.

Dean could just imagine the rumors that would circulate tomorrow, but right now, he didn't care.

Guster arranged the last bocks of wood on the pile he'd built and nodded. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Dean bent down to pick up the container of salt. Dean dumped the salt out over the corpse. It fizzed when it made contact with the scaly hide.

"Look, lady, you need to get out of here. We're about to make some really toxic fumes." Dean pulled his lighter out of his pocket and tossed it onto the pyre. The dry wood caught, crackling to life, and yellow flames licked their way upwards. The kelpie's skin bubbled like tar, boiling away from its flesh and bones.

There was no coming back from that.

Claire covered her mouth and nose with her hand, her face turning green. Burning whole bodies was like going to a barbecue in the middle of a sewer. You had the tasty smell of scorching flesh coupled with the overpowering stench of bone and skin slowly turning to ash. Dean watched the hungry fire consume the body, and felt something inside him loosen.

It was done.

000 Lakeport 000

 _Sisters! Sisters! There were never such devoted sisters_.

The world was white. White ceiling filled with white lights. White walls, white sheets, white tile floors. She was in a maze, a warren of hallways and rooms. Beds, chairs, cabinets full of medicine and bright, bright lights, but no one else in sight. The hallways echoed with the emptiness, the only sound was the music, crackling slightly as if the radio were out-of-tune.

 _All kinds of weather, we stick together, the same in the rain or sun…_

A giggle echoed down the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of two little girls twirling in blue dresses. She chased them around the corner, but there was no one there.

"Hey, sister."

Jenna turned to see Jessica standing behind her. She squealed and held out her arms, as if she'd come back from a long trip to see her sister waiting at the airport. But this wasn't the airport. It was a hospital.

 _Strange_.

The thought was forgotten faster than it had come, and Jenna fell into her sister's arms. They hugged each other so tight they spun in a circle, giggling as they finally broke apart to avoid tripping each other.

"I missed you." Jessica gripped Jenna's elbows tight and smiled wide, her teeth white and bright. She started to hum and sway with the music.

"I missed you too," Jenna whispered. Her stomach clenched around the words. "You were gone." There was something else, a thought floating out of reach. Something about this didn't belong. But the thought drifted away as Jenna took up the tune. "Sisters, Sisters, Two different faces, but in tight spaces, we think and we act as one."

Jessica sang the lines with her, and then twirled them both in a wide circle. She shook her hair out of her face and laughed. "I'm so glad you're here. I've been alone for so long."

"There are so many things I've been waiting to tell you!" Jenna linked her arm around Jessica's, and they entered the hospital cafeteria. There was no line, no servers to dole out food or cashier to take their money.

Jenna frowned. There it was again, that thought intruding on her reality. A strange idea, threatening to push down the walls.

 _This isn't real_.

Jessica filled her hands with a donut and coffee. They felt real in her hands. Her sister felt real, warm and happy and full of energy, full of life.

 _Life_.

Jenna frowned and looked around the empty cafeteria. There was no life here. None.

She remembered water closing over her head. She couldn't breath. She couldn't breathe! The coffee cup shattered on the floor. Jenna clutched her chest. It moved up and down, just like it should. Jessica tilted her head to one side, unconcerned.

"You don't need to worry about that anymore."

Jenna stopped breathing, thoughts spilling. Empty hospital. Her sister, alive. Water closing over her head. The clock on the wall ticked the seconds away as her chest refused to move. She waited for the headache, but it didn't come. She didn't breathe, and she didn't faint. She just was, exactly as she had been.

Just as Jessica was exactly as she had been the night she died. There was even a crimson stain across her belly. Jenna frowned. No, Jessica died in a fire. She wasn't stabbed. Was she?

Jenna looked away, and gasped. A man in a black suit stood in the cafeteria doors, staring at her. A sense of otherness clung to him. He wore it like a sign, declaring, _I am not part of your world_. It was in his posture, in his unblinking eyes, in the strange pallor of his skin.

"Who is that?"

 _Lord help the mister, who comes between my and my sister_. The music around them warned.

Jessica glared at the man in black. "He wants you to go with him. But you don't have to. You could stay with me. I've been alone so long."

"Jess." Jenna pulled at her sister's elbow. "Where are we?"

Jessica edged away from the man in black and pulled Jenna out the doors on the opposite side of the room. As they walked, flashes of color crept through the white walls. Figures moved through the halls, murky shadows without faces or voices. Their speech was a dull murmur, an echo lost down a long pipe. A doorway loomed ahead of them. One man napped in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. The other lay in the bed, his leg elevated and wrapped in bandages. His was the only face Jenna could see.

Sam.

 _Lord help the sister, who comes between me and my man._

"We're in the hospital, of course." Jessica sighed and paused in the doorway, staring longingly at the bed. "We're waiting. It's what people do here. We wait."

"Wait for what?" Jenna asked. She glanced behind them. The man in black was there again, waiting at the other end of the hallway.

Jessica shook her head, dispelling the color and motion around them. The hospital was empty again. Jessica wrapped an arm around Jenna's shoulders. "I've missed you. Come on. You have to tell me everything."

Jenna grinned at her sister. "Everything?" They had twelve years to catch up on.

Twelve years. There it was again, that feeling that something here was off. Something Jenna couldn't put her finger on. She'd known it a moment ago, but now it was gone. There was just her, and her sister, and all the time they wanted.

 _Those who've seen us, know that not a thing can come between us_.

The halls were empty, the music swelled, and two girls in blue giggled and twirled out of the corner of her eye. Jenna took Jessica's hand and led her sister on a tour of her memory, sharing sugar and caffeine and ignoring the world around them for the moment.

The man in black watched, and waited.

000 Lakeport 000

The hospital was full of whispers. They flowed between people like an invisible force, a constant murmur in the background. They never looked at him, oh no. When Brian's eyes searched for the source of the sound, every head was turned away. But the whispers continued. Whispers of awe, rumors spreading about the giant monster that had been killed a the lake. Whispers of pity, sorrow, and sympathy for the family waiting in room 112 of ICU.

Brian couldn't stay in that room any longer. He couldn't watch his daughter's still frame any longer. He couldn't listen to Sandy's careful breathing, as she tired not to cry. He couldn't bear the silence, but as soon as he stepped into the hall, he was surrounded by the whispers.

He took the five steps across the hall to room 113. He'd lived between these rooms for several hours now, keeping vigil, waiting for someone to wake. Dean was back, sleeping in the chair next to the bed, booted beet crossed on the mattress, arms crossed over his chest. He looked as comfortable as if sprawled across a memory-foam mattress. He hadn't twitched in the half-hour since Brian's last check in. Sam lay motionless in the bed, the monitors behind him slowly beeping a steady rhythm. His foot was bandaged and propped up on a molded pillow, the proof of his heroic attempt to save Brian's daughter.

He should wake soon, and learn the truth.

Awake. Such a word. Brian had never known its importance before. He sighed and turned to go, but the sound of movement halted him in the doorway.

Sam shifted in the bed, eyes blinking as he climbed slowly to consciousness. Brian moved to step forward, but Dean beat him to it. It was as if the two had a psychic link. The moment Sam twitched, Dean was fully awake. His booted feet hit the floor and his attentive face hovered in the center of Sam's vision, letting him know that he was there. That everything would be ok.

"Hey, Sammy. How you feeling?"

Sam shook his head slightly. His movements were slow and uncoordinated, a side-effect of the morphine pumping through his system. But the morphine couldn't erase the panic that had sent him into the water in the first place, the devotion, or desperation, that had pushed him to stay close enough to Jenna to keep her out of the kelpie's mouth.

"What happened?" Sam demanded. He took in the empty room, then grasped his brother's arm. "Where's Jenna, is she ok?"

"You decided to fight the kelpie with your toes, that's what happened!" Dean said. They didn't know the details, but they had piece together a good hypothesis. "What were you thinking, Sammy?"

"Jenna," Sam insisted again. He fumbled with the sheets and pulled himself to a sitting position. "Where is she?" He twisted, trying to get out of the bed, but his limbs were not cooperating.

"Whoa! Sammy! Stop!" Dean landed on Sam's chest, pinning his shoulders to the bed. "You're not going anywhere on that leg."

Sam stared at his brother dumbly for a moment, then followed his gaze down to the mountain of gauze that hid his mangled foot from sight. "Oh. Right." His head landed back on the pillows, and Dean released his hold with a knowing grin.

"That's morphine's nice, isn't it? Remember when I broke my leg? I woke up in the hospital, tried to walk away, and landed on my butt because I didn't even notice the cast." Dean laughed silently at the memory, then put the morphine pump in Sam's hand. "You use that when you need it, ok?"

Sam's brows furrowed, but he nodded. "Yeah, ok. How bad is it?"

In response, Dean held up a tooth as long as his finger. "I pulled this out of you, Sammy. You had to have surgery just to get the bleeding under control, and you're not done yet. The docs are debating the best treatment."

Brian had been present for that debate. He was still amazed that both doctors had walked away without being harmed, because Dean's fists has looked very ready to punch something. Brian did note that the standard-issue tissue box was now a mangled heap in the trash can. But he couldn't blame the hunter. One wanted to save the leg, one wanted to amputate, but they both agreed that Sam would never have full use of his limb again.

All to save his daughter.

His guts twisted at the thought.

If he wanted to miss the ugly part of this conversation, now was the time to leave. Because if Brian knew anything about Sam, Dean wasn't going to be able to deflect for long. Sam liked facts, and as good as he was at hiding things, he was just as good at dragging unhappy details out of unwilling mouths.

"What's the prognosis?"

Dean's face fell. "You attacked Jaws with your foot, Sam. Your leg is shredded."

Sam let out a breath, and nodded. "Right. It's ok, though. Jenna's ok."

"Sammy."

Brian could hear Dean's heart breaking with just that one word. All the blood drained from Sam's face.

"Sam, you're awake." Brian stepped around the curtain with a smile. His heart was shredded, as mangled as the flesh in Sam's leg, but he could be happy about this one thing. Sam, at least, was awake. He might lose a leg, but he still had his life. "It's good to see you back with us."

"Mr. Moore." Sam immediately straightened, as much as he could while propped up on pillows. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Sam? You didn't bring that monster here. You saved my daughter from being eaten. You gave her back to me."

Sam frowned. "So she's ok? She wouldn't-she wouldn't wake up."

Brian closed his eyes, the sight of Sam's hopeful face too much to bear. "She didn't. She won't. The doctors say she was without oxygen for too long. She's stopped breathing on her own." It was the first time he'd said it out loud. The truth left him in a wave. In a way, it was good to say the words. "They say its up to us, to keep her on life support or let her go."

"There's no chance she'll wake up?"

"No."

"No," Sam echoed. His chest heaved, and tears spilled from his eyes. His fist clenched and pounded the mattress. Dean placed a hand on his knee to keep the injured leg from moving as Sam writhed. "I should have-"

"No," Brian cut in firmly. "Sam, you did everything you could. You saved her from being eaten. You brought her back to me. At least this way, we have some time with her."

 _Time to say good-bye_. It was the one thing he had always wished for, with Jessica.

He wasn't sure if this was better, this slow waiting, but Sam did not need to hear that.

"I want to see her." Sam started struggling against his blankets again, and once again Dean held him still. One hand on Sam's chest was enough to keep him down.

"Sam, you can't get out of this bed." Dean's tone made it clear he would win any fight over this. "You did everything you could, Sammy. It took an army to take that thing down. It took Lake County's entire search and rescue armed with iron, and an angel blade. But they got it, Sam. It's dead, and it's done."

Sam closed his eyes and turned away from his brother, turned away from Brian, turned away from the world. He shut them out without saying a word.

Dean ran his hands over his face, suddenly looking ten years older. "I need a cup of coffee. You want one?"

Sam didn't respond.

"One coffee, coming up." Dean rose from his chair, took Brian by the elbow, and led him out the door.

000 Lakeport 000

"Abbi never stops talking, and Tyler tries to keep up even though he can't say many real words yet."

Jessica laughed and gave her sister a pointed look. "I wonder where she got that?"

She had been talking non-stop for hours. Jenna looked up at the clock. The minute hand hadn't budged, even though the second hand kept ticking round and round the face.

 _Odd_.

"I wish you could meet them."

"I have," Jessica said. "I've been here."

 _No you haven't_.

 _Because you died_.

It was a simple fact, on that had been part of her life for twelve years. But Jenna felt as if she'd just learned it for the first time. Images flickered in the empty cafeteria, figures moving though the cashier's line. People sitting at tables. They were alone, but they weren't. One world over lapped another.

Jessica took her hand. "I'm so happy you're here now. I've been alone for so long. I've been waiting for so long."

Jenna frowned. She didn't know much about death, she wasn't even sure what she really believed about it all. But all the stories seemed to agree on one thing. "Jessica, this can't be right. You shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be here. Shouldn't we move on? Go somewhere else?"

Jessica frowned, and pointed to the man in black. He still watched them from across the room. "He thinks so. We talked once before. I wanted me to go with him, but I couldn't."

"Why?" Jenna asked.

Jessica turned away, and then she was gone, like a light bulb winking out. Jenna was alone with a cafeteria full of ghosts.

No. She was the ghost. They were real.

A pair of figures swam into view, clearer than the others who filtered through the edges of her vision. "Dad!" Jenna waved, but he didn't respond. He looked right through her, face taut, eyes red. Another man was beside him, talking, but his words were lost to her, a jumble of sound with no sensible shape.

"Dad." Jenna's voice was small as she walked past her. Was she dead? Was this it? Was she doomed to wander the hospital forever? She turned to watch her father move across the room, and found herself face to face with the man in black.

"Jenna Moore." His tone was cordial and professional, like a salesman or a lawyer. "It is time we talked."

"Who _are_ you?" Jenna demanded.

"No need to be rude, my dear. I'm hiding nothing from you. In fact, that's why I'm here. The veil has been lifted, at least for you. It is time to move on, and I am the one to take you to the next step. I am your reaper."

"My reaper?" Jenna repeated. "As in, Death?"

"May I join you?" The reaper gestured to the empty space Jessica had left at the table. "We need to talk."

To Be Continued...

 **NOTE:** The song "Sisters" is from the movie White Christmas. Two sisters have a song-and-dance routine wearing fluffy blue dressed and dancing with giant blue feathered fans. Later in the movie, two male characters who are also song-and-dance performers lip-sync to the song while dancing with the giant blue feathered fans and wearing blue headbands and sashes. It's hilarious, and I now have a mental image of Jared and Jensen re-creating that performance. I would love nothing more than to see them do it on the convention stage. Because 1. I would laugh harder than I have ever laughed before in my life and 2. if you substitute 'brothers' for 'sisters', the song says it all.

And of course, my sisters and I know the song by heart, because we would dance to it when we were little girls.


	15. Make the Call

**Chapter 15: Make the Call**

Winchesters.

They were huge, both of them. Everything about them was gigantic in comparison to Claire, and she was not a small woman. Average, maybe. Defiantly not tall. But she wasn't small, and the Winchesters made her feel like she'd shrunk a foot every time she got near them.

Which was why is was so strange to see Dean looking small. He leaned against the Impala, hands in pockets, staring at his boots. For once, he didn't pose so that he would seem cool, or throw inappropriate winks at any woman passing by. His shoulders were slumped, his spine curled inward, his head bent. He was still a foot taller than her, but today, Claire didn't feel small beside him.

She slipped out of the diver's seat of her rental car and approached slowly, throwing a wary glance at the hospital. Dean had told her about Sam, and she'd heard the rumors spreading through the town. The clerk at the hotel desk had stared at her as if she'd grown a third eye, and asked about the monster in the lake.

Another hunt complete, another town that knew monsters were real. Sometimes, Claire wondered how the whole world hadn't noticed yet. But already, she'd heard the rumors twisting and growing. The kelpie had turned into a shark, a mutated alligator, or in some versions a man in a rubber suit. The town was rapidly explaining away the strange events that the search and rescue team had witnessed on the beach.

Winchesters.

They'd never believe the stories the other hunters told about them. Claire had heard a few wild ones. Some she knew were fake. Some, she wasn't so sure. But they all agreed that the Winchesters always won.

Except today.

Sure, the monster was dead, but that wasn't the point.

"Hey, are you ok?" Claire approached carefully, so as not to startle.

Dean raised his head slowly, and blinked. It took a moment for him to reply, as if he were only just waking up. "Yeah, we'll be fine. There's nothing else you can do here."

That was it. If there was any other emotion lurking under Dean Winchester's stern expression, he wasn't letting on.

He didn't need to. Claire had been analyzed by social workers and psychologists often enough to know there was a lot more to be said. She also knew better than to try having that conversation. Dean, she imagined, liked talking about his feelings even less than her.

Instead, Claire held up a jagged tooth the length of her finger. She'd wrested it from the keplie's mouth just before the bonfire. "Do you think it will be alright if I keep this?"

Dean perked up, eyeing the tooth with an interested frown. "Yeah. Gonna start a trophy jar?"

Jealous much? Claire grinned. "Jar? I thought it would make a cool necklace. Scare all the other monsters away when they see me coming."

"Nice." He stopped short of asking if she'd kept one for him, but she could tell he wanted it. Instead, he fell back into 'big brother mode.' "You did a good job out there."

Claire pulled herself up a little straighter. Winchesters. Sometimes, they made her feel bigger than she'd ever been before. "I know. Tell Jody that, will you?"

"Sure thing." Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders for a quick hug and then nudged her back toward her car. He muttered something about having a safe trip, and she muttered something about hoping Sam would be ok. As she pulled away, she could see him in the rearview, slowly slumping back into the Impala again.

Winchesters.

There was nothing else for her to do, so Claire turned her car toward home.

000 Lakeport 000

Legs. They were important things. You used them every day without thinking about it. And it took two. One wasn't useful for much. Walking, running, standing to shook a rifle, all of these things required two legs.

But Sam would soon only have one.

Once, Dean had thought that the most important thing was that Sam be alive. If his brother was breathing, Dean could sort the rest out later. He'd sold his soul once, just to have the chance. If Sam was breathing, everything would be ok.

Well, Sam was breathing. Sam was expected to make a full recovery.

Just as soon as they took off his leg.

Dean had always thought that they would hunt until they died. The hunt would kill them, sure, but until then, they were unstoppable. He'd seen other hunters retired with injuries, but never really thought it might happen to them. Sam would be able to walk on a prosthetic, but hunt?

Suddenly, the entire shape of Dean's life had changed. He couldn't even picture going home. How would Sam get down all of the steps at the bunker?

Sam didn't seem to care. He was just lying in bed, staring at a wall, stroking a ring like a hobbit on his way to Mordor.

Dean glared at the hospital, a hulking cement beast that no amount of salt and gasoline could slay. He hated hospitals. Hospitals were where people died, but there were no monsters to kill. It seemed wrong, to lie in a bed when death was so close. He wanted his shotgun in hand, ready to blow away any threat. But there was nothing to aim at.

Across the street another option beckoned. It was a shabby building, paint peeling, door listing slightly to one side. Everything about it warned passerbys that this was not a place you wanted to be. Yet a steady stream of traffic flowed from the hospital to the seedy little bar, where a neon sign in the window advertised "Beer on tap. Open 24/7."

Dean had never needed a beer so badly.

Instead, he looked down at his cell phone. Before he drowned his sorrows, or went back in to try to haul Sam out of his self-imposed cloud of gloom, Dean had people to call, family to share the news with.

He started with the hardest call, still amazed that she was on his call list at all. Still hurt that she was gone instead of here with her children. He had his mother back, the one thing he had always wished for. But the empty space her death had left in his life was still there, a gaping black hole of unanswered text messages and voice mail.

Her recorded voice told him to leave a message.

"Hi Mom, it's Dean. Look, I know you want your space, and I'm not trying to intrude. But something bad happened. Sammy's hurt." His voice caught for a moment. "And it would be great if you could come, is all. Or call. You know, he should hear from you at a time like this. We're in Lakeport, California."

Maybe she would respond, maybe she wouldn't. At least she would know.

The next call was answered immediately. "Dean." Castiel's familiar voice was gruff, a sign that the angel was anxious. "Did you find Sam?"

"Yeah, yeah we found him."

"What is wrong?"

"Everything." Dean paused, but the words wouldn't come. "Hey, Cas, you still in Tennessee?"

"I am driving through Missouri now. It will take at least two days, but I will be there."

Something in Dean's stomach settled. He'd been ready to beg, but hadn't needed to say a word. He had a family, whether Mary Winchester wanted to be part of it or not. "Right. Thanks, Cas."

There was nothing more to say, so he ended the call. He looked across the street, thirsty. They had two days to wait. Dean sighed, shook his head, and turned toward the hospital.

A prickling on the back of his next made him pause mid-step. There was someone behind him. Someone standing close, too close, but he had not heard footsteps. Dean's hand slid toward his gun as he pivoted to see who the newcomer was. The sight sent a jolt through his spine. Five years ago, he wouldn't have been surprised at all, but since the angel's wings had been clipped, this sort of thing had stopped happening.

Castiel stood not two feet from him, blinking in the bright midday sun, his trench coat already sagging in the heat. He still had his cell phone in one hand. Beside him stood a man in a black suit, the whisper of a grin taunting the angel. Castiel glared at the demon. "Crowley. We talked about this. Warn me before you do that."

There was something deeply satisfying about hearing those words come out of the angel's mouth. Dean had lost count of how many times he'd said the very same thing. The familiarity of the pair, of the banter, cooled the heat.

Cas is here. There was hope.

Crowley drew in a deep, and his grin braodened. "Ah, I love the smell of a hospital on a crossroads. Grief and desperation, a perfect combination. Business is looking good."

Normally, Dean was good for a few sarcastic quips before getting down to the fight. Not today. Today, he didn't have time for detours.

"You're not going in there." Dean could feel his weight settle, shifting into a fighting stance. That, or getting ready to be flung across the lot by a wave of demonic power. Either way, he would make his point.

Crowley merely raised an eyebrow. "It's not like there isn't already crossroads business going down in there. There are always two things you can find in every hospital: a reaper, and a demon looking for a deal. Sometimes the reapers win, sometime we do." He smiled, showing all of his teeth. "We offer time, more time than they've got now. That's what you humans always want, isn't it?"

"You aren't going near the Moores."

The grin vanished. "Spoil sport." Crowley waved to Cas. "Go on then, go fix whatever mess the Winchester's have made now. I'll be over there." Crowley pointed to the bar. "Don't forget, we've got a devil to catch."

Dean shook himself, but it never helped get rid of the slimy feel the demon king always left in his wake. He turned so he could not see the bar, and fixed his attention n Cas. The angel's face was solemn.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad."

000 Lakeport 000

Amputation. The word swirled through the air, sharp as the knife the surgeon meant to use. Sam stared at the images placed before him. X-rays and MRIs, all annotated with complex medical terminology that boiled down to one word.

He was going to lose his leg.

The doctor moved on, talking about prosthetics and therapy and the prognosis for walking and participating in sports again. It would take a lot of work, but he could get a good level of mobility back. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Sam stared at his leg, trying to imagine how it would feel not to have the appendage in place. Even now, he barely knew it was there. He was wrapped in a pain-killer cocoon, out of touch with most of his limbs. It was a novelty for a Winchester; they usually just got Aspirin and maybe some whiskey. But Sam as 95% pain free.

In body.

His spirit felt as if it has been shredded instead of his foot. It lay in tatters inside him, too worn to feel, to care, to think. The blanket felt like a lead weight pressing against his chest. The pain-killers allowed his thoughts to drift, out of focus. He couldn't think too hard, or he would have to face what was happening in the room across the hall. He simply stared at the wall, nodding at the right moments, until the doctor finisher her spiel and left. Left him alone.

No, not entirely alone. Jess lay on the bed next to him, her hand curled around his. It was the first time he'd sensed her presence since the beach. He stared at the ring, resting in his hand, and she stroked his hair, her brow furrowed. "You hurt."

She'd always had a way of taking his scattered thoughts and brining them together in one simple statement. She could see right through him, and now was no different.

Sam curled his fingers around the ring. "I'm sorry, Jess. I tried everything I could. I knew the danger this time, I knew what could happen, and I still…I was too late." He shook his head and turned away. She kissed the crook of his neck, then tucked her chin into it.

"Jenna is fine."

The words shivered across Sam's ear. He turned to stare at the ghost. "What?"

"She's with me." Jessica smiled. She looked happy. "I'm not alone anymore."

Sam flipped around to face Jessica, ignoring the warning needles of pain that shot through his leg. His heart hammered with hope. "What did you say?"

Jessica placed her hand on his cheek, cold and insubstantial, it passed through his face. "I wish you could be with me, too."

"But Jenna is with you?" Sam clung to the words, his opiate-fogged brain fumbling to understand. They were important, somehow. Jenna is still here. The doctors said she was brain-dead, but she hadn't moved on yet. She hadn't been reaped. The thought was like a surge of electricity through his system. . He pressed the call button and threw off the blankets. "I have to see her."

He didn't know what he could do. He didn't know how to heal Jenna's oxygen-starved brain. But he knew that if her spirit hadn't left and her body was still breathing, there was hope.

A nurse appeared in the doorway, and rushed forward to try to tuck him back into the bed. "Mr. Winchester, you need to stay in bed. You can't let that leg-"

"Why is everyone so worried about my leg? It's going to be cut off, who cares if it stays elevated? I have to see Jenna. Either you help me, or I walk over there." To prove his point, Sam swung both legs over the side of the bed. His injured foot screamed, even through the pain meds. Ok, maybe he would crawl over there, but he would go one way for the other.

The nurse ran to get a wheelchair.

000 Lakeport 000

Hiss! Whoosh. Hiss! Whoosh.

The sound of the ventilator filled the room, as constant as a heartbeat. The rise and fall of the pump was the only movement, the artificial inhale and exhale the only sound. Jenna lay motionless in the bed. She didn't move, didn't twitch or shift. She was as still as a doll, covered in a blue blanket, hair spread around her pillow like a halo. As if preparing to move on.

Sandy sat in a pool of sunlight, her skin baking in the heat. But she didn't feel it. She didn't see the flowers surrounding the bed. She didn't hear the concerned query of the nurse. She sat, hands gripping the side of her chair, wrapped in a shroud of grief.

Her daughter wasn't dead yet, but she might as well be. It was only a matter of time, and the choice was a slow wait or a quick end. But the choice couldn't be made yet. Tom was in the air now, flying back from halfway across the world. No choices could be made until he arrived. It made this stretch of time an oasis, no choices to be made, no preparations to make. It was just Sandy, and her daughter.

She could remember them, Jessica and Jenna playing together as children. They sang together, they fought with each other, and Sandy had loved watching every minute of it. She had wished for those happy moments to last forever, and also dreamed of what her girls would be like as women. She had expected to watch them grow old. She expected to have them around forever, or a least as long as she lived. Children weren't supposed to die before their parents.

Yet here she was, again.

"Mamma!" Jessie and Abbi ran to the bed and clambered up to clutch at their mother's still frame. No, that wasn't right. She and Brian had decided not to bring the children here. They were with their other grandparents. Tom's parents.

Sandy turned to see Brian standing the doorway, and beside him was a much younger man, skin tanned, military haircut bleached by the sun, still in his army fatigues. Tom.

Oh.

The sight of him hit her like a hammer. Their time of waiting was over. Tom's presence meant decisions could be made.

NO! Sandy felt the scream rising inside her, though it never passed her lips. No. Please. I'm not ready. She didn't know if she was praying, or crying, or fighting a psychic war with the universe. She had only one thought.

I want my daughter with me.

She and Brian had already talked about this. They had heard everything the doctors had to say and agreed. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable. There was no reason to spend money on care of a breathing corpse. Their daughter was gone, and they needed to let her go. Sandy had agreed to all this.

But something inside her refused. Part of her wanted to live in this room forever, holding her daughter's hand, refusing to say good-bye.

I can't do this again.

Tom slowly approached the bed and Sandy stepped away. He brushed his fingers across Jenna's hair, and cradled her hand in his. He wept silently, tears pouring from his eyes, and his children clung to him.

"It's time to say good-bye to Momma," Tom said hoarsely.

"What? Tom, you just got here." Sandy knew her tone was harsh, and felt Brian place a calming hand on her shoulder. But there was no calming the storm inside her. "It's too soon."

"I already spoke with the doctors. There's nothing else to do." Tom bent to kiss Jenna's forehead. "It's time." He looked to the doorway, and Sandy saw the doctor standing here, her hands tucked into her white lab coat and tears sparkling in her eyes. The angel of death, come to take her baby away.

"I may be able to help."

The voice was low, with a strange intonation, as if unused to speaking English, even though there was no accent. Everyone turned to stare. A man came to the doorway, dressed in a suit and trench coat instead of scrubs and lab coat. His eyes were kind, but set with determination. The doctor stepped aside as if in a trance, letting the man enter the room without argument.

"There is no help," Tom said.

Brian didn't say a word, he merely looked at Dean, who flanked the strange newcomer. Brian's eyes begged the question, and Dean nodded.

Who is he?

No, that wasn't the right question. Not after everything that had happened.

Sandy's heart skipped a beat. She stepped toward the man in the trench coat. "What are you?"

"I am an angel, and my name is Castiel. I no longer serve the lord, and heaven doesn't want me, but I am still an angel. I can heal your daughter, if it is not too late."

"Too late?" Sandy didn't have space for feeling anymore. Surprise, awe, hope, she had no room for those just now. All she had left was a desperate longing she couldn't finds words for. She reached out to clasp the edge of his coat. "What do you mean?"

"If the soul has left the body, there is nothing I can do. If her soul remains, I can restore her health."

"What is this?" Tom's voice was angry. He rose to his feet, arms spreading wide, ready for a fight. But one look from the angel silenced him.

"She's still here." A new voice joined the conversation. Sam pushed his wheelchair into the room, his leg jutting out in front of him like a lance. He struggled to stay upright, pain lines creasing his face. He shouldn't be up, shouldn't be out of bed, but there he was, rolling forward, a nurse chasing to catch up.

"Jessica told me Jenna is with her."

Sandy caught her breath. She'd been awash in memories all day, visions of her daughters playing together, visions of how they would be today. Hearing snatches of voices when no one was there. Just grief, she had thought, just hope.

Could it be true?

Castiel frowned. "Who is Jessica?"

"She's the woman's sister. She's a ghost. She died twelve years ago," Dean said grimly.

"Oh." Castiel's eyes narrowed, and he searched the empty spaces between people until he clearly found what he was looking for. "There is a reaper here. That means it will be up to her."

"Then you can save her," Brian said. Sandy gripped his hand tight.

"If she wants to return, yes."

"Why wouldn't she?" Sandy demanded.

The angel did not answer, and the set of Dean's mouth deepened. The temperature in the room dropped, and Sandy could almost see her breath, a long, slow exhale. Jenna had missed her sister. Jessica would not want to be alone.

Would Jessica try to stop Jenna from returning? Sandy's stomach clenched and she realized she didn't know the answer to that question.

Sam pushed forward. "Cas, can you let me talk to them?"

"It is possible to talk with Jenna. Her sister's spirit..."

"She's attached to this." Sam held up his hand, the diamond ring resting in his palm. Tears stung at Sandy's eyes. So. She had been waiting for him.

Castiel reached out to touch the ring, and nodded. "Yes, I can help you talk to her."

Sam closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Good. Let's do this."

"Sam." Dean stepped forward, a warning in his voice. He looked like a parent about to put his foot down. Sam squared his shoulder's and met Dean's narrowed gaze. and Dean nodded, stepping back again. "Alright. Just, be careful."

"Sam will be fine," Castiel assured them.

"And Jenna?"

The angel turned to Sandy. There were no promises in his face, no assurance or false hope. "We will see."

Sandy nodded and stepped away from the bed, pulling Tom with her. He moved, unresisting. Sam pushed himself slowly forward to stop beside Jenna. Castiel placed one hand on Jenna's forehead, and the other on Sam's. They both closed their eyes and stepped into a hidden world.

Sandy laced her fingers through Brian's. She leaned on his arm and he wrapped his body around her. Together they waited.

 **NOTE: Well, what do you think?** **Please review!**


	16. Goodbye

**Chapter 16: Goodbye**

Death.

Jenna had never really given it much thought. It was something that was far away, something that happened to other people. It had taken her sister, she knew it could take her husband any day during his deployment. But it wasn't supposed to come for her. She was living a normal life. As a full-time mom in a small town with low crime rates, she expected to live until she as eighty and die in her home, surrounded by children and grand-children and great-grandchildren.

Death wasn't supposed to come when she was thirty.

Jenna didn't know what she believed about the afterlife. She didn't know what to expect. Maybe a long tunnel with a light at the end, not this surreal version of the hospital, wrapped in shadows and piping out music to match her sister's mood. The reaper should be a medieval figure in a black cloak with a giant sickle, not a business man in a suit with a ticking clock and two options. She felt like a contestant on The Price is Right, with a choice between what she already had, this almost-hospital, and the complete unknown.

Because being alive again wasn't an option.

The reaper had made that very clear. The facts were simple. Her brain might as well be a block of ice, for all the good it would do her now. She watched Tom, still in his desert fatigues, listen as the doctors explained in excruciating detail. His face was set, no energy wasted on emotion, though she knew from experience that the tension in his shoulders signaled any other person would be weeping openly.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but they went right through his chest. She couldn't touch him, couldn't make herself heard. She had no body; it was lying in a bad down the hall, attached to a ventilator, all but dead.

Tick, tick, tick tick.

It was only a matter of time until her heart stopped. The signal filled her ears, slowly speeding up signal the end of the round. She had always hated the buzzer in Taboo. It startled her enough to make her jump every single time. But if she didn't choose before the buzzer this time, she would be stuck. That was the rules, the reaper said. She had until her heart stopped. If she didn't come with him, he would leave without her. Leaver her here in this in-between space with her sister.

Jessica. She was so different here. Jenna had not been old enough to go bar-crawling with Jess, but she could imagine that this is what a drunk Jess might be light. Jumping from topic to topic, driven by her emotions, out of touch with logic.

Or maybe, logic just worked differently here. The laws of physics certainly did.

She staggered down the hospital hallway, ticking filling her ears. The last few moments of her life, slowly winding down.

Go with the reaper, or stay here with Jessica. The grand unknown, or life as ashadow lurking on the edges of the life she had known.

Jessica had chosen to stay. Why?

But Jessica had vanished, gone off as soon as the reaper started talking about moving on. Like a child who didn't want to hear that it was bedtime. Jenna stamped her foot hollered, "Jess!"

She felt a tug, and suddenly she was in a different room. Sam lay in the bed, bandaged foot propped up on massive pillows, staring at the wall. Jessica was curled up against him, whispering in his ear. Whether he could see or hear her was anybody's guess. They were together, but as far apart as they had ever been.

Sam could have a girlfriend. He could be married. Jenna hadn't asked, and he hadn't offered. But there was Jess, acting as if no time had passed, as if everything was the same.

Because twelve years had come and gone, but she hadn't seen any of it. She wafted through past, present, and dream as if she had no idea where one started and the other began. Maybe she didn't. Things were all mixed up in here. There was nothing to separate imagination from reality. This place was just fragments. Jenna could already feel her thoughts falling apart. She could feel herself falling apart.

Tick tick tick tick tick.

Jenna whirled to see the reaper standing behind her. He held a pocket watch in his hand, but closed it with a snap. The ticking stopped, and Jenna gasped, putting a hand to her chest. Her heart thumped there, steady as always. The man in black tucked his watch back into his pocket and fixed her with cold eyes.

"Time's almost up. You've had longer than most, but once your heart stops, I can't stay. You need to choose."

Suddenly Jessica was between them. "You leave her alone!"

"Hey!" Jenna placed her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Jess, I think he's trying to help."

"He wants to take you away." There was a shrill, desperate edge in Jessica's tone. "I've been alone for so long. Now you're here, don't leave me."

"Why are you here?" Jenna narrowed her eyes at her sister. She looked so young, but she was now nearly eight years younger than Jenna. A lost, lonely girl not even out of college yet. Jenna has always wanted to out-grow and out-do her big sister, but the shift still felt strange.

"Jess, it's been twelve years. You always had more sense than me. This place is horrible, it messes with your head. Why are you still here?"

Jessica's eyes landed on Sam. He was thrashing around, trying to throw off his covers and saying something that sent the nurse into a panic, but it was all garbled. This whole place was a parody of everything that life should be.

Jenna turned to the man in black, but his only response to her fiery glare was to raise his eyebrows. "Why is she still here? It's your job to make sure people get safely to other side. Right?"

"Well." The reaper paused to clear his throat. "We preserve the natural order, tidy up, as it were. Fate has this book, and we know when things are supposed to happen. Usually. Sometimes, violent deaths catch us by surprise. Especially a demon killing. They like to rip the rule book to shreds. When that happens, we don't always arrive on time. Sometimes, the person is too wrapped up in what has happened to them to even see us. Sometimes, they just aren't ready to go. We can't force them to leave." He shrugged. "I'm more of a taxi service, if you will. Get in or not, it's your decision."

"So she can leave if she wants?"

He nodded. "Of course."

Jenna turned back to her sister. She focused all of her energy on the girl she had known, the big sister who was clear-headed and practical. The Jessica she remembered wouldn't want to wander around in this blurry limbo land for the rest of her existence. If it was possible to pull her sister back to sanity with pure willpower, Jenna would make it happen. "Jess, you need to get out of here. We need to get out of here."

"You really want to go with him?" Jessica made a face at the reaper. "Leave everyone?"

"Sis, we're dead." Jenna put her hand, not on Jessica's shoulder, but through it.

"Hey!" Jessica yelped and rubbed her arm. "I got that part, thanks."

Logic. It was like a magic potion in here. Already, Jenna could feel her head clearing. Emotions gummed everything up, but simple facts made everything feel clearer. The room came into focus around them. It was solid, cold, and heavy. They didn't fit anymore. How to make Jessica see that? "We can't go back. It doesn't work that way. Does it?"

Jessica huffed, and looked away. "I figured that out, too."

"So what are you doing here?" Jenna demanded. Even though she knew, because she wanted the exact same thing; to hold her babies, to kiss her husband.

"I wanted to see Sam, one last time." The answer was a whisper, Jessica's eyes fixed on the empty bed.

"How'd that go?" Jenna regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. This was a come-back-to-earth kind of moment, not a stab-you-in-the-heart one. Jessica's gaze snapped back on Jenna, and her eyes were clearer than they had been yet. She looked her sister up and down, as if really seeing her for the first time.

"When did you get so grown up?"

"When you were gone, sis. When you were gone. Come on, it's time to get out of here, before we both get stuck. Besides, you know me. I want to see what's next. Make sure things are ready when Tom and the kids finally catch up. Someday." Jenna held out her hand. "Will you come with me?"

"Ah-not so fast." The reaper held up a hand, but he was staring out the door. The impassive face now looked well and truly pissed. "What is an angel dong here?" he muttered. "Angels are just as bad as demons, and Winchesters." He turned to Jenna. "This might not be your day after all."

Angel? Hope was dangerous here, but Jenna couldn't help it.

"What do you mean?"

Jessica's tone chilled the room, and everything shifted. They weren't in Sam's room anymore; they were across the hall, surrounded by the Moore family. Jenna could see her own body lying in the bed, and a man in a trench coat who glowed with pure energy. He put a hand on her forehead.

Jenna felt a tug at her gut. She didn't know she'd missed the sensation of gravity until it settled over her limbs again. She could feel something in her throat, a pillow against her head, scratchy sheets on her legs.

"What is happening?"

The room vanished, but the man the trench coat remained.

"Jenna." His voice was rough and commanding. "My name is Castiel. I am an angel, and I can heal you."

000 Lakeport 000

The hospital room was suddenly empty. The Moores, Dean, the doctor, all had vanished. The lights didn't give off any heat, and Sam couldn't feel the touch of fabric against his skin. He could still see the ICU, the bed and machines, the cheerful smiley face on the wall. But there was no texture, no taste, not even a breeze from the open window. The wheelchair had vanished, and he was standing next to Castiel, dressed in jeans and an old t-shirt he'd worn out long ago, in his college days.

Something in his subconscious had dressed to impress. This was the shirt he had worn when he met her.

And there she was, dressed in white, staring back at him. _Jessica_.

Sam took two steps forward and wrapped his arms around the woman he loved. She burrowed into his chest, and for the first time since all this had begun, her touch fel warm and alive. She fit there just as she always had, tucked under his chin. He held her close, arm's aching with longing.

This isn't real. This can't be real. He'd lain her memory to rest, let go of her and everything she represented, so many years ago. Yet here he was, holding her in his arms, and it was real.

As real as it could be, trapped in the space between earth and heaven.

Voices broke into the moment, shattering the illusion. They were not alone.

Jenna grasped Castiel's coat by the lapels, exactly as her mother had moments before. "Say that again." Her voice was shrill, insistent, hopeful and murderous at the same time. If this was a joke, she promised gut-twisting pain. If it was real-would she even believe it?

Jenna had always lived relentlessly in the now, in the real, with little thought for life outside of her own corner of the world. How would she react to an angel? Even Jessica twisted in Sam's arms, to see what would happen.

"I can heal you." Cas had a look and a tone that could convince with no explanation. Sam had been on the other end of it before. There was no questioning his words.

Jenna squealed, bounced, and planted a kiss Cas square on the mouth. Cas blinked as if he'd been hit over the head, and took a quick step backwards. "I am not sure your husband would…"

"Oh, Tom won't care, he'll kiss you too. Are you serious?" Jenna looked over Castiel's shoulder. "Sam, is he serious? Because, this is weird, all of it, and you always were the epicenter of weird."

Clearly, death had not had any adverse affects on Jenna's psyche.

"Gee, thanks, Jenna. Yes, yes he's serious. But I think he'd prefer if Tom didn't kiss him." Though for a brief moment, Sam could picture exactly that. It didn't end well.

"I can show Tom what I learned from the pizza man, but I'm not sure he would appreciate it."

Jenna threw back her head and howled with laughter, then slapped Cas on the shoulder. "I like you. So, how does this work? Do I have to do anything?"

Castiel held out his hand. "Just come with me."

"What about me?" Jessica's words echoed around the space, sounding small. She tipped her head back to look up at Sam. Tears stained her cheeks. "You aren't staying either, are you?"

His voice wasn't working, so Sam just shook his head. Once, he might have considered it, but not anymore.

Jessica let out a deep sigh and snuggled deeper into his chest. "I didn't want you to leave. Every bit of me knew it was wrong when your brother came, but I couldn't stop you. So I waited. I waited for so long and now you're finally here. Sam." She dug her fingers into his shirt, her entire body leaning into him in a desperate plea. "Don't leave me again."

"I don't want to." Sam ran his hand through her hair, wrapping himself tighter around her. "I didn't want to. Jess, you can't know how much I miss you."

She pulled back, eyebrows raised. "No? Because I think I do. It's exactly how much I've missed you."

Suddenly, a canyon yawned between them, although neither had moved. They were as close as they could be, but still parted. Twelve years hung between them. Years Sam had spent believe that Jessica was gone, safely moved on. He had burned so many bones, but he'd never thought that she would fail to move on. "Why didn't you go with your reaper, Jess?" It was the question that had burned him since he felt the first chill in the Moore house.

Her eyes flared, the mirror image of the fire that had killed her. "That nasty thing that killed me, he said they had plans for you." She clenched her fists against Sam's chest. "Separating us was part of the plan. He stuck me to the ceiling. He gutted me. He burned me to hurt you. I hated him, and I wanted to ruin his plans." Her skin crackled with the memory of flames, but they had not heat. She found Sam's eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were ok. I was waiting for you." She was tense and crackling with energy, and then she was limp in his arms, clinging and shaking like a patient in shock. As if part of her was still stuck in that moment. "I didn't want to die."

"I would have done anything to save you, Jess. I never should have left." But the words felt dull in his mouth. He would have timed his leaving differently, had he known a demon was lurking. But in the end, he would have gone with Dean eventually. He would have tired to help his brother, to find his father. Had he known, what would he choose?

He didn't know, and the thought chilled him to the bone.

"You had to go." Jessica pulled in a deep breath, and now her eyes were dry. "You couldn't leave your brother alone, you couldn't ignore your father. It wasn't your fault. Don't you dare believe it was."

Sam cupped her face and pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips tasted the same as they always had, cherry lip gloss with a hint of peppermint.

"Sam." Cas's voice was soft, but insistent. "We shouldn't linger." Beside him, Jenna sniffed and wiped back a tear.

Jessica wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck. "Are you ok, Sam? I can't tell. You look so different."

Her hands were smaller than he remembered, hear head barely came to his shoulder now. He knew he'd grown, but it was startling to see the difference.

"You look exactly the same." Which was the problem. Sam curled his hands around hers. "Jess, I just want you to be ok. Being stuck here, it's not good for you."

"How do you know? What if what comes next is worse?" There was no hint of fear in her voice. She'd never thought much about what came after life; her life had been full and kept her too busy to dwell on anything else. She was pushing, searching for a reason to stay here. With him.

"It's not."

She raised an eyebrow at the certainty in his tone, and he smiled. "You will go to heaven, Jess, and heaven isn't a bad place. It's all your best memories. You get to relive the best moment of your life forever. The happiest you've ever felt, that's what heaven is."

"You sound pretty sure."

"I'm friends with an angel." Sam nodded to Cas. "Trust me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, considering. "An angel?"

"How else could I be here with you now?"

"Ok, you have a point. How did you meet an angel?"

"That is a long story." Sam glanced at the reaper, who was watching the face of his pocket watch. "We don't have any more time. This is your chance to be free, Jess. You need to go with the reaper."

She glanced over her shoulder at the man in black, then fixed her eyes back on Sam.

"I don't want to."

"I know."

Jessica's hands slid up his neck and drew his face down toward hers. Sam melted into the kiss, letting this small moment linger until she pulled away.

"I love you, Sam Winchester." Jessica's whisper brushed against his ear. Then she moved away, and his arms dropped, limp and empty, to his side. Jessica stood in front of the reaper, face set.

"Alright. I'm ready now."

The reaper turned, and they were gone.

Sam felt a wrench in his chest. It was done.

The real world slammed into him, solid and heavy and bright. The wheelchair was cold underneath him, the bandages on his foot were hot and scratchy. The hospital gown he wore was stiff and smelled of bleach. And the ring in his hand was no longer cold to the touch. He gasped at the sudden empty feeling in his chest.

In the bed, Jenna shifted and struggled against the tube in her throat. Cas passed his hand over her face, and the tube vanished. Jenna coughed, sat up, and glared at Sam.

"What the hell just happened?"

Jenna didn't get her answer. A moment later she was at the bottom of a pile of Moores. Tom tackled her first, their children squirmed on top, and Sandy and Brian formed the outer layer. Everyone was crying, and laughing. The doctor tried to push in, but no one would make room. Finally, Tom broke away, arms spread wide, headed for Castiel. The angel took a quick step backwards, the memory of Jenna's words regarding kissing evident on his face.

"No need to-"

Tom wrapped Cas in a bear hug and kissed both his cheeks. "I don't know what just happened, but thank you."

Sam pushed himself backward, away from the happy mess. It was too loud, to cheerful, to full of life after what he had just seen. Jessica was gone. He wasn't part of this family.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. "You ok?" Dean's voice was rough.

"Yeah." Sam wiggled his foot, and started to pull the bandages off. There was no sign of blood on his unbroken flesh, no hint of pain. He wagged his toes and stood up just to prove his point. "Cas does good work."

"Hm." Dean grunted, but didn't say anything. Because he hadn't been asking about Sam's foot, and they both knew it. "Right. Well, let's get you some clothes."

Sam glanced down at his hospital gown, and nodded in agreement. He moved to follow Dean out the door, but was tackled from behind. Sandy wrapped herself around one arm, and Brian took the other. Sandy planted a kiss on his cheek, and it was wet with tears.

"Thank you, Sam. Thank you for saving my daughter."

 **NOTE: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Now that all is well again, we will have one or two closing chapters to finish things off. Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing!**


	17. All's Well

**NOTE: I didn't like the way the last two chapters turned out, and I wrote them when I was really short on sleep. So I've done a bit of editing. You can re-read if you like, but the main action has remained the same so you don't need to. And here we have the final installment:**

 **Chapter 17: All's Well**

Winchesters.

They never ceased to surprise. Never gave up on a fight. Never failed to underestimate their own value.

Castiel watched the tears fall, heard the amazed cries and happy laughter, and felt his heart swell. Saving people. It was what the Winchesters did best. It was the anchor that had kept drawing the angel back to these humans when they had first met. It was thing the thing that moved them forward. The hunt came second. This. These moments were the reason for everything.

Yet there was Sam, pulling away. There was Dean, trying to blend into the wall. This was what they worked so hard for, and yet when the moment came, they could never seem to savor it. To take in the sheer joy of it.

To be included in something as simple, as normal, and wonderful as a family being happy together.

Winchesters.

Castiel stepped away from the crowd to join the brothers. After all, he had no place here. He was the one who was different, separate, a non-corporeal being merely driving this human vessel. He'd always known he didn't belong. He'd always stood apart from humans.

Until he met the Winchesters. Now he stood with them, but wondered as always why they did not join in. Why they pulled away, slipped toward the door as if to escape without being noticed.

The smile Sandy and Brian latched on to Sam and drew him back into the crowd gave away the lie they tried to hide. That more than anything, the Winchesters-yes, both of them-wanted to part of that happy scene.

To have their family whole again.

It was the thing that kept them together, humans and angel. They both shared that longing for a family restored. But even raising the dead could not change things for any of them now. So they stood apart, but together.

"Thanks, Cas." Dean was a man of many words, most days. He liked to ramble about things the angel did not understand. Liked to say things that would make other people smile, or frown in Sam's case. Always, Dean knew the value of words. When they were cheap and easy to come by, he spent them wildly. But the more weight they carried, the fewer he used, and made them more precious by their scarcity.

Castiel turned to Dean with a small smile. "You're welcome." He paused, then nodded toward the door. "I should go, before Crowley has a chance to strike any deals in that bar."

Dean slapped him on the shoulder and nodded. "Good call, Cas. Keep in touch."

Again, Castiel nodded, and walked out the door. Stares followed him down the halls, but the angel was used to that. He fixed his eyes ahead and kept his face grim, to discourage anyone from getting in his way, but the smile lingered inside. He held that moment in the hospital room in his mind, savoring the feeling of so many happy souls joined in one place. It was such a simple thing, healing the human body. It was nothing, compared to the task at hand. The angel had done it a thousand times, and never cared. But today, it was everything.

Winchesters.

They had a way of changing things.

000 Lakeport 000

Angels.

Sandy had never doubted their existence. She had always assumed that the universe contained more than she could see. Unlike Brian, who accepted only what could be observed and quantified, Sandy had always believed in more.

At least, she thought she had. But now, she couldn't stop staring at her daughter just to make sure it was real. She couldn't stop pinching herself to see if it was a dream. She couldn't get the image of the man in the trench coat out of her head.

Could it be true?

Angels?

All Sandy knew was that her daughter had been dying, and now she was sitting at the table laughing with her family as if nothing had happened. They were all here, filling the Moore home to bursting. Tom and his parents, Sandy's sister and Brian's cousins, their children and grandchildren. It was an impromptu family gathering to celebrate the miracle that had happened less than four hours before.

Dean had already cleaned out half of the buffet line, and was still stuffing his mouth, chatting with everyone without really getting to know anyone. Sam slowly nursed a glass of wine and watched the familial chaos with a soft smile, as if he'd never left this place behind. Neither of them acted surprised or impressed in any way. Grateful, relieved, and happy, but not surprised. It was as if this sort of thing happened every day.

Angels.

Castiel had vanished as quickly as he came, nearly taking the Winchesters with him. Sam and Dean would have slipped away and been gone without a word, Sandy was certain, if she hadn't caught them at the door. Now that the job was done, they had no reason to stay, and Sam was too polite to intrude. Even now he hovered on the fringes of the party.

He saved people from monsters, talked with angels, and still thought he belonged in the shadows. Sandy loaded a plate from the assortment of dishes their family had brought, and moved through the crowd to settle next to Sam. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as she placed the food in his hand.

"You haven't had anything to eat all day. Don't think I didn't notice. Or do angel healings mean that you no longer need food? Is Jenna never going to eat again?"

"Um…no. I mean, yes…She should be fine. Just fine." Sam's lips twitched. "I can't believe she hasn't asked more questions."

"Hm." Sandy narrowed her eyes, considering her daughter from across the room. "She's gotten wiser in her old age. She knows whatever happened isn't something her father wants to talk about in public. Don't you worry, as soon as she gets you in a dark corner, you're in for it."

"Ah." Sam let out a sigh. "What do you want to tell her?"

"That's not my decision to make. My daughter is grown. It's your story, you choose what she hears." Sandy pulled a croissant-wrapped min-hot-dog from the plate and bit in. "I haven't poisoned that, you know."

Sam's lips compressed, and he passed over the second hot-dog in favor of a stick of celery. No wonder he was still so skinny. "I didn't want any of you to know about any of this. The way I grew up, the things that are out there, I wanted to keep Jenna, you-Jessica- as far away from all of that as I could."

"That's my job, Sam."

He quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

Sandy helped herself to the second hot-dog. "I said, that's my job. Protecting my children from all of the dark things in the world, from the things that could hurt them or make life difficult. Every parent feels that way. We know the world is dangerous. We might not understand all of the dangers, but we all know they are out there. You just know a little more about the details." Sandy shrugged. "Demons, serial killers, monsters, rabid animals, is it really that different? No parent can keep their child from meeting pain in the world."

"Our kind of thing is different-"

"Dead is dead." Sandy drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes before continuing. "Jessica could have been killed by a drunk driver, or any other human tragedy, Sam. Either way, it means the same thing. She's gone, and that's the end of it. Life isn't fair, bad things happen. We pick up the pieces and move on. I hope you don't regret having known her Sam."

"I didn't say-"

"Because I don't regret that she knew you, not for a minute."

"She died because of me."

"She died because something evil decided to kill her. That's nothing new. It's part of this world we're stuck in. Human, demon, it doesn't matter."

"That's not what most people say."

"My daughters and I are not 'most people.'" Sandy squeezed his arm. "Are you ok, Sam? This isn't the life you wanted, and I can see why. Are you happy?"

Sam frowned at his plate. "I don't really think about happy anymore. This is the life I've got, and I can't change it. I'm not unhappy."

Truth, finally. Sandy nodded. "Alright then. If you ever need anything, Sam, you know where to find us."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side. "Thanks."

And then the plate of food was back in her hand. Sam sent a silent signal to Dean, and they both slipped out of the room, out the front door, and into the night.

000 Lakeport 000

Miracles. Jenna had never believed in them. Fate, maybe. Luck, certainly. But miracles weren't, couldn't, be real. If miracles could happen, her sister wouldn't have died. If miracles were possible, the combined might of the love of the Moore family would have kept Jessica from that tragedy. But she was lost, passed away beyond their reach.

Yet Jenna couldn't shake the feeling that she has seen her sister. There was no memory of the event, just a hazy idea and a warm after-glow in her heart.

She had heard that strange things happened to people in comas. Long tunnels, white lights, visions of heaven, or of the dead.

 _You were brain dead_.

Everyone kept saying that. No matter who she talked to in the last 24-hours, they couldn't get through the conversation without using those words. Sometime they looked like they wanted to poke her, just to see if she was real. She'd been passed through the family for hugs, and they'd even thrown a party.

But she couldn't remember any of it. She didn't remember going to the lake house, or being near the water. She knew Sam had been over to the house, but the rest was a haze. That was normal, the doctor said. Consistent with traumatic brain injury. What wasn't normal was her recovery, complete and sudden, courtesy of an angel. Even the doctor agreed on that point.

A stranger in a trench coat had touched her forehead and suddenly she was awake.

Jenna kept looking around for the cameras, because this was just like the plot of one of those tear-jerk TV shows. But no, this was her life.

Whatever had happened, it had brought Tom home. That was the only reason Jenna truly believed things had been bad. The army would not have sent her husband home for anything less. He was tucked into the bed next to her, his steady breath warm on her neck, their children snuggled into the blankets all around. The sun had risen a while ago, but her little family showed no signs of wanting to leave the bed. Jessie flipped through a book, Abbi chattered at her father, and Tyler played peek-a-boo under the sheets.

Jenna couldn't ask for a more perfect moment.

Ding-dong.

Every head turned toward the sound of the doorbell, but no one moved.

"Tom, you wanna get that?"

"It's probably for you," he said.

Well, he was probably right. Jenna slithered out of the blankets and into her bathrobe before padding toward the door. She found herself staring at a flannel shirt.

Ah, the Winchester giant. Jenna tiled her head back for a better view.

"Sam."

Here was the man who had the answers. All the crazy that ever happened in this town centered around him.

"Hi, Jenna." He had that do-I-need-to-run expression on his face, the one he wore just for her. He must have noticed the eager smile curling her lips. Time for some answers. She scoped the street, and saw the black car not far off, big brother lurking in the driver's seat. He bobbed his head in time to the music from his stereo, and looked pointedly away, leaving Sam to defend himself.

Which question to start with? There were so many.

What happened at the lake?

Was there really a monster in the water?

How did you meet an angel?

No, seriously. An angel?

One that wears a trench coat?

What kind of name is Castiel, anyway?

And why didn't he stick around for dinner?

Sam lifted a small, blue, smurf toy and held it forward. "Did you still-"

"Yes!" Jenna snatched the smurfette and hugged it to her chest, then looked up at Sam with a smile. "Thanks."

"Sure. You should have it. Dean and I are heading out now, so-" He was backing away, turning around for a quick escape.

"Oh no you don't! You are NOT leaving without any kind of explanation." Jenna fixed him with her best glare. Always being the smallest, she knew how to look up her nose at someone, and make them feel small in the process.

Sam's feet shifted on the porch, but he didn't run away. "What do you want explained?"

Jenna put her hands on her hips, questions circling. "Um, how about everything?"

"Everything? Wow. Explain the entire universe and the meaning of life? Forty-two."

Had Sam Winchester finally learned how to tease? Jenna couldn't stop the burst of laughter escaping her wide-open mouth, though it ruined her serious-face. "You know what I mean. An angel in a trench coat?"

"Yeah, well. Are you sure you want to know?" His eyes bounced off her glare, and he stared at the bushes, drawing in a deep breath. "Ok. Well, there was a people-eating monster in the lake that can look like anything it wants to. It imitated your kid to lure you into the water. I saved you from being eaten, but not before you nearly drowned. So my brother had to call an angel to heal you, but he has other things to do so he left as soon as you were conscious. And yes, Castiel does like to wear a trench coat."

"Seriously?"

Sam nodded. "Yep. That's it."

"You are the epicenter of weird, Sam Winchester."

This was the part where he used to look away, squirm, try to say something that would un-do his weirdness. But this Sam just smiled. "You should be used to that by now."

"Yeah, well." Jenna set the smurfette aside and wrapped her arms around Sam. He returned the hug, strong and gentle at the same time. "Take care of yourself, ok?"

"You too." He turned and trotted down the walk and over to the car, where he disappeared into the passenger seat. Behind her, Jenna could her the children charging down the stairs, yelling for pancakes, and Tom's heavy footfalls following. The black car grumbled down the road, and Jenna turned back to her family.

000 Lakeport 000

Brian shifted in his seat and adjusted his tie. His reflection in the mirror was unsettling; he looked exactly the same as he had a week ago. But a week ago, he had been an entirely different person. He had known about the dark side of the world, but it had remained tucked away in a corner of his mind. It had not been part of his life, only part of Sam's. And Sam had been a distant memory, the person who had carried the supernatural into Brian's life, and then carried it back out again.

Monsters, demons, it was all far, far away from real life. Until a monster burst out of the lake. Until his daughter spoke to him from beyond the grave. Until an angel brought the nearly-dead back to life.

Brian didn't feel like the same man. Yet his face stared back at him from the glass, unchanged. His agenda waited on his desk, town business as usual. His assistant had placed his coffee next to it, along with a check.

City business and hunter's business collided in that row of numbers, city funds used to pay for monster extermination. What sort of fee did the Winchesters usually receive for their work?

 _If they get paid at all_. After all, monsters were a secret.

Sam had never explained how his family earned money. Brian had never thought to ask.

There was a tap on the door and it swung open, admitting the Winchesters. They were dressed casually today, jeans and flannel instead of suits and ties. Sam looked more at home in that garb, hands tucked in his pockets. Under that thick canvas jacket, Brian would never have guessed the boy had once aspired to be a lawyer.

A lot had changed in twelve years.

And nothing had changed.

Brian stood up and came around his desk in one smooth motion. He grasped Sam's hand firmly, then Dean's. He still wanted to say 'thank you' again, and again, and again.

All this time, he'd connected Sam and his family with death and blood. He'd never thought of the hope that they could bring. Of the people they could save.

The brothers shuffled their feet and glanced aside, still hesitant to take any credit for the miracle that had happened. Or possibly, they'd been thanked so rarely they just didn't know how to respond. Sam had kept quiet about his family's work, Dean and slipped in and out of the shadows as if he could become part of them. They didn't correct any of the rumors floating around town, and seemed happy to let the population think that an overgrown alligator or overly-imaginative serial killer had run wild at the lake.

Who would believe in kelpies anyway, if they bothered to try?

"Uh, you said you need these back." Dean produced the official city badges Brian had issued their first day in town. He handed it over reluctantly, fingers lingering on the laminated surface. "What do you need them for? I mean, you can't use them again."

Brian cocked his head, trying to decipher the meaning behind the reluctance to part with the badge. They were city badges, and wouldn't be helpful for any future forgeries. "I have to destroy them so that no one can use them to forge a fake for themselves."

"Oh. Well. I mean, what if you just punch a hole through it? Stamp void across it?"

Sam sent a puzzled glance in Dean's direction. "Why do you care?"

Dean shrugged. "Oh, you know, it's just a new kind of ID. One we've never had before."

"I suppose you can keep it." Brian took the Id and punched a hole through the center before handing it back. Dean grinned at the small piece of plastic and ran his thumb over the letters of his name.

"Nice. Alright, looks like everything is taken care of here. I'll go get the car ready." Dean moved to leave, a smooth opening for Sam to linger for a private moment with Brian, if he wanted one.

"Wait. You can't leave without this." Brian picked up the check and placed it in Dean's hands.

Dean stared that the numbers on the dollar line. For a moment, his mouth hung open. "Is that what people get paid for this kind of work?"

"Sam said it seemed fair."

"Sammy!" Dean smacked his brother on the arm. "You didn't tell me we were getting paid!"

Sam shrugged. "I didn't really think about it."

Dean folded the check and carefully tucked it away in a pocket, as if it could fall apart at any moment. His hand lingered over it. "Is there a bank around here where we can cash this?"

"Halfway down the block, on the left."

Dean bounced out of the room, leaving Sam and Brian alone.

"How are Jenna and Sandy doing with all of this?" Sam asked.

"Fine." Brian didn't even pause to consider the answer. They were both more fine than he had ever expected. Jenna was too busy living her life to wonder that she wasn't dead. Sandy had simply decided to stop asking questions and enjoy her miracle. Although she had asked if angels liked food, specifically cake. But she didn't know how to send a cake to heaven, so Brian was left with the resulting baked goods.

"Good." Sam nodded. "That's good. Some people don't handle this sort of thing well."

"No," Brian agreed. "I know I didn't. I saw what you do, the things you have to deal with, it scared me. You scared me."

Sam's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. He knew. It was why he'd kept silent, all those years ago.

Brian sighed. Sam didn't need his regrets. That wasn't what this was about. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I want you to know that you always have a place here. It would be nice to see you again."

A small smile filtered across Sam's expression. "Thanks."

Brian reached forward and pulled the other man into a brief but tight hug. Sam tucked his hands in his pockets again, and slid out the door as silently as he had entered.

000 Lakeport 000

Dean ran his hands on the Impala's steering wheel before starting up the engine. It purred and they pulled out of the filling station, a full tank of gas and a sack of road food. It was time to be back on the open road. No matter how the job had gone, the road welcomed him with open arms. Black asphalt stretched in front of him, as much a part of his home as the initials carved in the back seat. The road was simple, uncomplicated. The paved surface could take him anywhere in the lower 48. The entire country lay under the rubber tires, he jut had to give her a little gas.

Sometimes, his butt ached. His leg cramped. His fingers grew stiff from being curled around the wheel for so long. But Dean never stopped loving the drive. It was constant, the one thing he could always count on. No matter what happened, his Baby and the road would carry him somewhere else.

It wasn't often Dean hesitated to leave a town. He had always moved on, moved forward, rarely looking back. A buddy to share a beer, a girl to share his bed, a good burger or a clean motel, these were things he could find in any town. They were replaceable. All except his brother.

Dean glanced at Sam, munching on a burrito beside him. Sam's eyes drifted out the window, catching on landmarks as they passed the edges of town. He didn't look back, but Dean knew he wanted to.

This wasn't just any town. This time, they had left something special behind.

The Moores were a singular family. Dean had met a lot of people in his life, some welcoming, some not. But he had met very, very few capable of worming their way into his life. They had welcomed Sam with the same care and concern they would show one of their own, and included Dean in that mix. Part of the family.

No wonder Sammy had wanted to stay, all those years ago.

Along the road, people stopped to stare at the Impala. A few waved. This entire town knew the Winchester's had done something good. Dean even had a wad of cash in his pocket.

He'd been paid. For a hunt.

It felt as world-changing as anything he'd seen, and that was saying something.

Lights flashed in the rearview mirror. Dean frowned. Now what? He'd been run out of towns before, but he was already on his way out. There wasn't anything wrong with the Impala. Behind him, the Sheriff leaned out the window and made a waving motion.

It was almost comforting to know that some things didn't change.

Dean pulled over onto the shoulder and waited for the Sheriff to approach the window. "Sheriff."

"Agent." Mann leaned into the word, and settled his elbow against the car's roof, looming over Dean. It was a move that bullies often used to be threatening, but he was too relaxed for Dean to bother reaching for his gun. Besides, if it came down to it, he wouldn't need his gun against Mann. In the passenger seat, Sam had straightened.

"What can I do for you?" Be polite, Bobby had told him on more than one occasion. Be polite until you know what they want. No sense in fighting if you don't have to.

"I know you're not FBI." Mann crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know what you are, but I know you're not FBI."

"Ok. So, why'd you flag us down?"

"You saved a lot of lives back there. That thing in the lake…whatever that was. It would have killed again, and I wouldn't have had any idea how to stop it. We would have spent months chasing it. But you come, and the problem is gone inside a week." Mann held out his hand. "I'm not too proud to admit when I'm wrong. I hoped to shake your hand, before you go."

Dean stared at the outstretched palm for a moment, then placed his hand there. Mann's grim was solid and warm. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester. Sam." Mann reached toward Sam.

Sam stared for a moment, as if he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. Dean nudged his shoulder, and Sam held out his hand to shake as well.

"Have a safe trip." Mann gave them a final nod and trotted back to his car. Dean watched him drive away, hand tingling.

Thank you.

Two words were better than all the cash in his pocket.

He looked at Lakeport in the rearview mirror. This was one town he wouldn't mind coming back to.

"Well, that was weird."

"Yeah."

000 Lakeport 000

The drive out of town was as eerie as the drive in had been. The last time Sam had made this trek, down the winding road from Lakeport to Palo Alto, Jessica had been at his side. There had been a pile of textbooks in the backseat, and Avril Livine had been blasting out the radio. Life had been simple, and the landscape had been familiar. By his final year at Stanford, Sam had gotten to know every dip in the road, the trees and billboards and gas stations that led up to the Moore's hometown.

It was something he had never had in his life before. Dad, Dean, and the Impala had been the only constants in his childhood; the landscape always changed. During his four years at Stanford, Sam had gotten to know this area better than any other. The last gas station on the edge of town, the blue house at the top of the hill, the billboard that always ran toothpaste adds. These small things had always been.

But now they weren't.

The filling station Dean stopped at was on the old Casey's, but a shiny Quick 'n EZ with a McDonald's attached. The house on the hill had a swimming pool now, and the old billboard was completely gone. Even the hills felt like they had a different shape, and the road that used to curve between them had been abandoned in favor of a wider, gentler freeway.

It felt like putting on an old shirt he had suddenly discovered was too small.

Dean gave Sam a sideways glance, but said nothing and kept the music low. He waited until they stopped for dinner to strike up a conversation. Random ramblings about Stooges, Looney Tunes, and the strange content that sometimes made it onto billboards, were a staple of Winchester drives. Sam and Dean knew how to fill the time talking about nothing.

Three days later they approached the Kansas border. The sky was darkening, but that didn't matter to Dean. A few hours from home, there was no sense in stopping at a hotel. Sam twisted into the most relaxed position the front seat offered and slept, head pillowed against the window. It was as comfortable for him as any bed.

His dreams were slow to come and filled with light. A sunny California beech, the trim, green lawn of the Stanford campus, Jessica's golden hair spilling over his shoulders. She was still there, tucked away in the brightest memories, the best dream of all.

A streetlight flashed overhead, and Sam blinked, coming awake at once. He knew that light. It illuminated the Welcome to Lebanon sign, and was always tipped at just the wrong angle to blind both driver and passenger.

"You'd think someone would adjust that," Dean muttered. They rolled past the filling station, a rusty old building with only three pumps out front but which sold the best -and only-pizza in town. Shadows flicked past, dim outlines of buildings, all closed for the night, but Sam knew what they were. The farm supply store, thrift store, ice cream shop, bar.

In a blink of an eye the town was gone, and then they were on a narrow country lade, barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. No hills here; Sam could see the farm houses in the distance, their nighttime lights studding the landscape exactly as they had when he had left. Stars wheeled over head as Dean turned the car, and Sam didn't need to look to know they were now on the final drive to the bunker. He knew the feel of the curve almost as well as he knew the Impala's passenger seat. The gravel road bumped underneath them, and Sam counted the pot-holes until Dean finally pulled to a stop at their front door.

Home.

"So, how are you doing?" Dean asked. It was the question that had hidden silently in the background the entire trip. Sam was surprised he hadn't asked it sooner.

He paused for a moment, considering.

 _Are you happy_? Sandy's question echoed in his ears, but that wasn't what Dean had asked. Happy came and went. Happy wasn't something Winchesters go to keep.

"I'm ok," he said.

Dean nodded, accepting the answer, and opened the door to the bunker. "Good."

000 Lakeport 000

 **Well, there you have it! I hope you enjoyed the story. There will be one more small tag, and then we're finished. Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews! Please don't forget to leave a comment about this chapter. It has been great to hear from you. What's the point of writing if there's no one to read it? So glad to be part of this community. You guys are the greatest!**

 **-JMR**


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Saturday. Sandy sat alone in the playroom for the first time in months. The children weren't here today; they were at the park with their father. Jenna was spending as much time as possible with her husband before he shipped out again. They both relished the unexpected time together, and neither questioned the miracle that had brought Jenna so close to death.

At least, they said nothing in front of Sandy. If Jenna had questioned Sam, she'd done it as her mother predicted, in a dark corner where no one could come to his defense.

A smiled flickered across Sandy's lips. She let it linger and settle there. The play room was empty, and that was as it should be. Children were meant to grow up, leave home behind. Sandy leaned out the window and blew a kiss at the sky. If angels were real, then heaven might be also.

Be well, my daughter.

Jessica was gone, Sam had his own life, Jenna was wrapped up in motherhood.

But the silence was no longer empty, hollow. A peace had settled in her soul, a weight had been lifted. Sandy breathed deep, and turned her back on the play room.

She was pulling on her gardening shoes when the door-bell rang. Brian looked up from his book, staring first at the door, then at his wife. Sandy shrugged.

Who would come unannounced on a Saturday morning?

A woman stood on the step, blonde hair and sad, searching eyes. Sandy stepped back, struck by the resemblance.

"Hello. My name is Mary. This might seem strange but-I'm trying to learn more about Sam Winchester. I'm his-" She paused, fumbling for the word. Because Sandy knew that name, but this woman wasn't the right age. Besides, Mary Winchester was dead.

Those eyes. That name. It couldn't be.

But angels walked the earth, and miracles could happen in Lakeport.

"I heard Sam was injured, but he's not at the hospital. They told me to check here."

"Sam's fine, he and Dean left town yesterday."

"Oh. Good." Mary's smile was hesitant. She fiddled with a book in her hand, leather-bound with bits of odd-shaped paper sticking out from the pages. A scrapbook or journal? "Are you Jessica Moore's parents?"

"My daughter died twelve years ago. Why do you ask?"

"I'm trying to learn more about Sam. I was gone for-I missed a lot of things, and I'm trying to catch up."

Sandy paused for a moment, then pulled the door open wide. "Well, we knew Sam for a little while, and I like to think that he'll always be part of the family. Please, come in. We've got some coffee left."

Mary smiled and stepped through the door, looking hungry, but not for breakfast. Sandy began to chatter about times gone by, and Sam's mother soaked in every word.

 **Note: I started writing this story back in the beginning of season twelve. I'm not happy with the direction the show has taken Mary's character. I wanted her to be trying to learn more about her boys and the lives that she missed, not off hunting. So. There you have it.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


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